


Whatever It Takes

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Series: A New Beginning [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Injustice: Gods Among Us, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magic, Master of Death (Harry Potter), Romance, Supernatural Elements, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 40,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: A great darkness has cast a long shadow upon the Golden Age of Heroes. The Justice League scattered, leaving on a brave few to stand and fight against those that would bring the world to heel, or see it burn. In the heat of battle, a new face emerges that could be the answers the League is looking for or the person that will condemn them all.(Sequel to "A New Beginning".)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, or anything related to any DC Comics such as Justice League, Batman, Superman, Green Arrow, Injustice, Arrow and more. I don’t own that, I am just challenging myself as a writer by doing fanfiction and using it as a way to receive criticism and feedback.  
> Summary: A great darkness has cast a long shadow upon the Golden Age of Heroes. The Justice League scattered, leaving on a brave few to stand and fight against those that would bring the world to heel, or see it burn. In the heat of battle, a new face emerges that could be the answers the League is looking for or the person that will condemn them all.
> 
> Pairings: Bruce Wayne/Clara Kent, Aster Potter/Oliver Queen, Aquaman/Wonder Woman, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor, implied Felicity Smoak/Jason Todd (past relationships mentioned)  
> Warning: If you couldn’t tell by the pairings above, I am not going with standard comic cannon pairings nor am I following pairings in the DC TV shows. While many notable characters will be in this one shot, I’ve taken liberties with the cannon and pairings because after all its fanfiction and the sky is the limit here. That being said I am honoring the comics at the same time, I don’t stick to exactly one arc or one era of comic book stories, instead have taken inspirations from the whole to piece together a unique—or what I hope is a unique universe—but since this has a bit of Injustice (with a twist) in it and some stuff borrowed from Justice League the Flashpoint Paradox, there have been and will be some dark moments like superhero deaths. I can’t give anymore away without spoiling stuff, so read and enjoy.  
> Extra Warning: I have put plenty of tags to warn of sexual content, violence, dark themes, but consider this your extra warning that this fic will have some disturbing moments within it. Especially considering how dark Wonder Woman is in the Flashpoint Paradox, and how that shows in this story, too. Wonder Woman parts aren’t the only parts that the tags or warnings apply to, but her character storyline is definitely the one that has the most disturbing elements. You’ve been warned, multiple times, tags and author’s notes. Any horror expressed in the comments will have you directed back to here.
> 
> * * *

“Whatever It Takes” 

a _Justice League_ and _Harry Potter_ crossover 

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/gp/152592576@N08/cPawg6)

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

* * *

_ACT I_

_OF MAGIC AND SHADOWS_

_“ In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”_

—Dante Alighieri

* * *

_Gotham Metropolitan Museum_

The police sirens shrieked in the early morning as sunlight split over the horizon painting the city of Gotham in gold, and tires screeched down the highway as people watched in horror as Wonder Woman struck down Superwoman with a punch so hard that it echoed like thunder. The Amazonian had abandoned her patriotic costume in favor for darker and more muted armor that practically covered her body from head to toe. Her eyes were no longer blue, but fiery red and filled with a burning hatred. 

Superwoman crashed down through the ceiling into the museum, where Cheetah and Green Arrow clashed violently. Her body impacted the ground so hard it formed a small crater, but she was on her feet before Wonder Woman landed before her. “This isn’t you, Diana,” Superwoman said, beseechingly. “Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what Ares has done to you? What you’ve done to yourself?” 

“Done to myself?” Wonder Woman asked, her head cocked to the side. Her dark hair was pinned back out of her face, and her eyes were now red like the flames of hell itself. Every motion, every movement, held a predatory grace and murderous intent that it made the fine hairs on Superwoman’s neck stand up on end. “I am being true to myself more than I ever have been. I was born and trained to be a warrior, and a true warrior’s purpose is to conquer. If you would only see the change I want to bring to this world and join me—” 

“I could never stand by and watch you subjugate the world,” Superwoman interrupted her, hands clenched into fists at her side. “The things you have done and justified to yourself—you’ve slaughtered innocents, Diana!” 

“Mortals, I have found are hardly ever innocent,” Wonder Woman sneered, rushing forward. They collided in a blur of fists and titanic power; their surroundings cracked and broke with the force of their fighting. 

In the floor above them, Aquaman battled Batman. 

“Enough, Arthur!” Batman growled out. 

“Enough?” Aquaman hissed, angrily. “It is never enough. It won’t ever be enough. You humans take so much for granted, praising virtues in which none of your kind can claim while turning a blind eye to the damage you to the world around you. Your kind destroyed my people, my home and if I have to rebuild it on the back of your bones then so be it!” 

Batman dodged the blast of power that shot out of the tip of the trident. “Wonder Woman isn’t going to help you rebuild your home, Arthur. She is just feeding and using your anger to her advantage,” the Dark Knight clicked on a button along his gauntlet. The explosive gel he had placed along the floor when he dodged was now right beside Aquaman’s foot, and with a burst it exploded with a loud roar. The flooring beneath the Alantian crumbled out from underneath him, and he fell down into the floor below. “Overwatch, has the vault been breached?” He asked, roughly. 

_“The vault door has been opened, but from the cameras, no one is inside yet,”_ Overwatch informed him, her tone composed and crisp came through the earpiece in his ear. _“Green Arrow is holding Cheetah at bay, but Superwoman isn’t doing so good against Wonder Woman. She is going to need aid—no, Wally, you aren’t going down there so don’t even suggest it!”_

The reprimand Overwatch gave the Flash would have made him smirk ever so slightly, if it hadn’t been for the dire circumstances. The Flash had been nearly beaten beyond recognition by Bane a few days ago and even with his advanced healing, he still wasn’t ready to be in the middle of a fight of this magnitude. Batman dropped a smoke bomb down into the hole in the floor, before he leapt down there to continue his fight. 

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Green Arrow mocked, his tone harsh and abrasive. His bow in hand, he had an arrow notched back and his eyes flickered through the hallway. His chest heaved up and down with deep breaths, claw marks ran down the length of his left arm. The blood slid down his skin in thin rivulets, and his attacker vanished too quickly to pinpoint where she disappeared to. A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, and if he had been a second slower then he would have cut deep by the razor sharp claws that Cheetah was known to tear me apart with. 

He released an arrow, but the limber villainous dodged out of the way. It nicked her across the side, causing her eyes to flash with animalistic anger. She looked ready to pounce on him, but she twitched, and then ran off when two bat-rangs sailed through the air towards her. Batman appeared a moment later, with a furious Aquaman on his tail. “Watch your back, you watch mine?” The archer asked, with a blond brow raised. 

Batman nodded, mutely. 

The battle between villains and superheroes raged onward. The museum and its artifacts taking a devastating blow from all the gadgets and superpowers breaking down the walls and foundation, but it all came to a head when Wonder Woman realized she couldn’t outright beat Superwoman so she rushed towards the vault without hesitation. Superwoman flew hot on her heels, and was going so fast that when Diana cried out in pain that she couldn’t halt. She felt her body pass through the archway into the vault, it was like cobwebs running across her from head to toe and she felt face first into the floor. 

It was a sensation that Superwoman had felt one other time, years and years ago when she was a college student. The sensation of magic draining out her powers, and leaving her nothing more than a mortal; judging by Wonder Woman who lay prone across the floor just a few feet away, it seemed that the Amazon was just as affected. Superwoman pushed herself to her feet with a groan, feeling like her equilibrium had been thrown off. Raising her head, she went stock still when she saw that they weren’t alone in the room. 

There stood a figure draped in ratty and tattered black cloak, a _moretta_ mask upon their face and with an ancient leather bound book in their gloved hand. The journal of Nicolas Flamel that Wonder Woman had so desperately sought was now in the hands of a mysterious foe. The masked figure tilted their head to observe the murderous Amazon to look upon the confused Kryptonian, before they raised their hand, wiggling their fingers in a parody of a greeting. A burst of magic erupted in a wave of blue and gold sparks that soared from those fingers, and slammed into Wonder Woman. 

The Amazonian let out a horrific scream, clutching her arms where runes were burnt into her flesh. Aquaman who had been rushing to his cohort’s defense, entered the room and threw his trident at the mask figure who vaulted up and out of the way, floating upward and suspended in the air unnaturally. The trident crashed through the wall, crumbling it down and the masked figure placed a hand on their hips and cocked their head to the side in a way that said, _Now look at what you did._

Cheetah paused, briefly her gaze flickered to Superwoman. 

“Ignore her! She’s powerless! Get the one with the book!” Wonder Woman snarled, angrily. 

Cheetah leapt upward across the walls and lunged at the masked figure, only to fall flat on her face when the masked figure disappeared with a loud crack. 

Green Arrow shot an arrow out, that exploded in midair and expanded out into a net that wrapped around the villainous while Batman used a specialized bat-rang that sunk into Aquaman’s arms, injecting high powered tranquilizers into his veins. The Last King of Atlantis collapsed to the ground with a mute groan. Superwoman turned, starting towards Wonder Woman who was clawing at the glowing symbols. Diana’s head jerked up towards the Kryptonian and she sneered, darkly. “This isn’t over,” and in burst of shadows and flame, the former hero was gone. 

“What…just happened?” Green Arrow demanded, hotly. 

_“A new player on the field?”_ Overwatch suggested, through their ear pieces. 

“Whoever they were, they got away with the book that Wonder Woman was after,” Superwoman sighed, brushing off some rumble from her shoulder. She glanced around the room, using her x-ray vision to make sure that the masked figure wasn’t still here and just invisible. It wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened. “I don’t know whether to be grateful she didn’t get it, or be concerned that we have a new threat to worry about. The masked person did help us…” 

“I hate magic,” Green Arrow grumbled, his expression dark and thunderous. “I don’t trust it. Even if they helped, the enemy of our enemy isn’t necessarily our friend.” 

_“Careful there, Robin Hood,”_ the Flash commented, over coms from the WatchTower. _“You are starting to sound more and more like Bats.”_

Batman had a stony expression on his face. “Flash, go inform the rest of the League of this development. Overwatch, piece together any footage you can find to give us a clue at our mystery guest. I’ll go speak to the Commissioner—” He cut off when the scanner on his belt made an alarm sound, and he pulled it free in the blink of eye. The screen expanded when he flipped it open to a news broadcast about the Joker escaping Arkham Asylum. 

Batman glanced over at Superwoman, who smiled at him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Go. We’ll take care of everything here,” the kryptonian woman reassured him, with a slight dip of her head. Only a person who did not know him would have missed the way Batman’s expression softened at her touch, nor the way he reached up to grasp her hand to give a quick reassuring squeeze before he grappled up and away. 

* * *

_Wayne Manor_

_Later That Evening_

Wearing an elegant royal-blue Versace gown with a plunging neckline and an asymmetrical deep V back, Clara Kent entered the ginormous mansion with a tip of her head towards Alfred Pennyworth who was milling about making sure everything was in order with the waitresses and waiters hired for the charity event. The champagne bottles popped to light applause and crystal flutes were filled with the bubbly liquid to the rich and wealthy Gotham City elite, and she plucked a tiny cucumber and cream cheese sandwich off a passing tray unable to help herself. She never quite liked coming to such upscale events, but as a lead journalist for the Daily Planet, she had to swallow her nerves and get the job done. It was laughable that she had been doing this for nearly ten years and yet she still managed to get nervous. 

A hand pressed to her lower back, and she knew who it was without looking. Her heightened senses allowed her to pick up on the familiar, self-assured gait amongst the noisy and loud crowd. The sound of his heartbeat was like finding home and the scent of musky aftershave, sandalwood with a trace of coconut reached her nose. Before she had met Bruce Wayne, she always imagined him to be the type to use expensive and headache inducing colognes. She had been pleased to learn he abhorred the stuff like she did. That had been nearly seventeen years ago and their relationship had changed over the years, having gone from outright antagonistic to a tentative friendship to a romantic relationship neither one of them say until it practically smacked them in the face. 

“You made it,” she smiled, with adoration warm in her blue eyes. She stared up at the man who was only three inches taller than herself, unable to help how her eyes swept over him to check for wounds. He strong proud jaw paired with a long aristocratic nose and heavy set blue eyes was what tall, dark and handsome dreams were made up of in his custom fit Armani suit and tie. It was amazing how boyish and charming he could be when she knew how the handsome contours of his face could be downright terrifying given the right circumstances. “I had thought your meeting was going to go on forever.” 

Her words really meant: _I was worried about you._

“Negotiations went smoothly so the meeting didn’t last as long as I thought it would,” Bruce replied, a smile touching the edges of his mouth. _Everything is alright. The Joker is back in Arkham where he belongs,_ his words echoed back. 

Both she and Bruce wore masks on a daily basis, to cover for the fact that she was Superwoman and he was Batman. She pushed her thick framed black glasses to the bridge of her nose, and ran a hand across her dark brown hair that had been swept up into a simply yet stylish bun. They lived very dangerous lives with facing villains almost every day, and it hadn’t been easy to have a relationship with each other. There had been a time three short years ago when they had been married—three years ago when they had been so happy, and then in the blink of the eye, a painful tragedy stole away their happiness. It had been so bad of a divorce that she never imagined that they would find their way back together, but over the last year of battling against Wonder Woman who had turned against the morals in which the Justice League stood for, the pair had rekindled their relationship. 

Diana Prince had been engaged to a man named Trevor Barnes. The pair had met through the work they both did at the United Nations, and over time had developed into a deep and loving relationship. It had gotten to a point where Diana wanted to live a normal life with Trevor, and so she asked to be striped of her immortality and her powers to be able to grow old and age with him. But Fate was cruel to the newlyweds when an explosion happened at the building where the UN had an important meeting taking place. It was because of Zara—the leader of the Cult of the Crimson Flame who was a pyrotechnics expert—that the building had exploded and claimed the life of Wonder Woman’s fiancé. Zara had blamed the UN and Wonder Woman for not stopping slavers from human trafficking and for the pain she endured as a child who had been sold into slavery. 

Diana wanted vengeance. Nothing would sway her mind. When her mother had refused to give her back her powers for the revenge she craved, Wonder Woman had gone to Ares. Clara knew that it had cost Diana something vital to make a deal with Ares. Whatever good could have been reached in Diana had been destroyed, crushed underneath the darkness that fed the need for revenge in her heart. Diana had killed Zara and the cultists in cold blood, but her parting words about it being only the beginning made Clara fear what the Amazon would do next. Diana knew how to strategize and plan battles, knowing that brute force would only take her so far and she had many allies in the political world. It left a lot of uncertainty in the wake of her turn from good and each encounter where they have foiled Wonder Woman for the most part just left Clara feeling like they were missing something important. 

_“—did you see—back together—”_

_“—misplaced guilt—obligations for the child—”_

“After so many years of being around this, you’d think I would have gotten used to the shark smiles and backhanded comments,” Clara said, with a false cheerfulness. She could hear a lot of comments—nasty ones directed at herself because of the man attached to her. There was a time when she lacked self-confidence and those comments would have hit her hard. It was probably laughable considering she was Superwoman, the invisible icon. Now, it was like a fly buzzing around—annoying, but bearable until the word “child” passed their lips. 

It made her want to hit something very, very hard. 

“We can slip out in about an hour,” Bruce whispered, against the shell of her ear. “Just behave until then, alright?” 

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself, if you think I can behave for an entire hour listening to these gossiping windbags,” Clara replied, out of the corner of her mouth. “But I suppose I will try,” she added, after a moment, “for you.” 

“That’s all I ask.” 

“Did we…” Clara chose her words, carefully. She was mindful of the eyes and ears, eager to get a good story or scandal. “Did we every figure out why our friend needed to borrow that book?” 

“Which friend?” Bruce asked. 

“Our old one,” Clara simplified. “Not the new one.” 

Bruce shook his head, slightly. “Whatever the reason, we can’t figure it out. Only speculate. Given the questionable reading material and the occult plotline, it doesn’t seem that anything good could from reading that book,” he replied, with his brow furrowed together. His lips were pursed with displeasure, and he glanced down at his watch as if that would make the time go faster. Bruce didn’t enjoy these parties any more than she did, even if they were for charity. 

Oliver Queen showed up, cueing loud questions from journalists that sit like vulture near the entrance and the bright flashes of cameramen. His blond hair was slicked back out of his face, and his beard had been trimmed neatly. He wore a deep navy suit with a silvery tie that was just a size too large to skillfully hide his muscles beneath the expensive fabric, a subtle attempt to hide just what he was capable of. He flashed his pearly whites at the camera with a practiced grace, and behind him a woman followed with her head bent, fingers gliding over her cellphone. 

She was none other than Leliana Evans-Black, Oliver’s trusted PA and followed him through events like this like a dutiful shadow. She was a younger woman in her mid-twenties if not younger with alabaster toned skin that made the color of her red velvet dress pop. It was a one shoulder dress that had a long sleeve, fit the woman’s supple curves like a glove and high slit that exposed just enough to be enticing and not scandalous. Her ebony hair was styled in elegant waves like old Hollywood starlets, and her eyes were lined with charcoal in cat style eyeliner look that made her vivid emerald eyes pop. Her lips were painted red were curled into a small smile, but Clara could tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile no matter how convincing it may seemed to the people that Oliver and Leliana spoke to. 

Many tabloids made up stories about Oliver Queen and his every loyal PA since she had appeared three years ago, but they had dried up in time when nothing ever seemed to indicate the two were closer than boss and assistant. Clara, however, had very keen observation skills; she had to in order to be the high paid journalist that she was. There were undertones, instances of intimacy between the pair that many had miss. Leliana’s watchful green eyes that keep nosy journalists or unpleasant company away with a well-aimed baleful glance, or how Oliver hand steers Leliana through the throng of people away from a drunken man who crudely express interest in her. The two revolve around each like moon and earth, like a well-practiced dance and with an incredible amount of trust. There were also stolen glances—little looks that lasted no more than heartbeat—but there was also a distance, invisible walls between the pair that kept whatever was between them firmly professional. 

Both of them obviously wanted more, but hesitated. Clara didn’t know what Leliana’s hesitations were, but she knew Oliver’s stemmed from a very painful and tragic loss. 

Eight years ago, Dinah Lance the Black Canary had been murdered by Damien Darhk. A magic user that been bent on revenge and regaining his former immortality and Green Arrow had killed the man in retaliation before his ritual had been completed. Burnt to ashes, Damien would never rise again, but it was poor consolation to the man who had lost a woman had been so much of his life. Dinah and Oliver hadn’t been together for a couple of years before her death, but she still had a big piece of his heart regardless. In the aftermath, Oliver had quit being Green Arrow and had put the suit up. It was three years ago, he put it back on and Clara always wondered what or _who_ compelled him to be a hero again. 

Bruce had never been able to get a solid answer out of the man, even when he was dressed up intimidatingly as Batman, but he thought the reason he put the mask back on had to do something with Leliana. It made Clara want to know just how the reserved and polite PA convinced him where the rest of the league had failed. 

“How long do you think until Oliver realizes that he is incredibly jealous of the men that ask Miss Evans-Black to dance?” Clara chuckled, in open amusement when Leliana gently lets down the gentleman asking for a dance while Olivier glares stonily at the man as if trying to turn him into a pile of ash with his glower alone. She hoped that Oliver would learn to love again—the hardest and most painful lesson a person could ever learn—and take a chance on the dark haired woman before it was too late. For all he has been through, the Green Arrow deserved a bit of happiness at the end of the day. 

“Olivier’s stubborn and he rakes himself over the coals of guilt constantly. I give it another decade before he would dare to make a move on her if she stays available for that long,” Bruce commented, with a hearty sigh falling off his lips. “He also has to make peace with the fact that she is sixteen years his junior.” 

“True,” Clara winced, slightly. She felt herself tense up when Oliver and Leliana drew near, but released a sigh of relief when they passed by, with Ollie only give a shallow nod of acknowledgement. He would probably come back over, but with so many people asking about the new tech that Queen Consolidates was producing, she knew that he would be a busy man. 

Of course, Bruce didn’t miss a single detail and felt need to comment. 

“You’re unnerved by her,” he said, quietly. His blue eyes flickered to dark haired woman’s back, with a deep frown on his lips. 

Clara gnawed on her lower lip. She didn’t want to put Leliana under the full weight of Bruce’s scrutiny. She seemed like a wonderful and nice woman from what little interact they’ve had. “Unnerved isn’t exactly the word I would use. It isn’t anything to do with anxiety or fear,” Clara spoke, her voice soft and confused. There was just something about being up close to her, seeing those wide emerald eyes stare back at her that made her feel uneasy. Not bad as if she was being threatened, but like she had forgotten something so vital. It was a feeling that gnawed at her, a memory that danced on the edge of her mind that she couldn’t quite put together. “There’s…something familiar about her. Like I’ve seen her before and like I should _know_ her, but I can’t quite figure out just where. It’s maddening because I feel like it’s important and every time I fail to figure it out, I feel a knot twist tighter in my chest.” 

Bruce isn’t satisfied with her answer. She can tell by little furrow of worry in his brow that no other person would have caught unless it had been Alfred or Dick. “You are going to look into her, aren’t you?” Clara said, unhappily. 

“I already have.” 

Clara arched a brow. 

“Oliver is a friend. I don’t like people taking advantage of my friends,” Bruce defended, looking disgruntled by having to admit he even had friends. She loved him dearly, but he was so emotionally constipated that it was like pulling teeth to get him to admit he was a big softy underneath all that Batman gruff. “I did a standard background check on her.” 

“And?” She prompted, poking a finger gently into his side. She was always mindful of her strength. 

“The background came back clean. There were no errors in her birth certificates, schooling, and medical history. She had a child at seventeen. An eight year old boy by the name of Theodore Black who is marveled as a prodigy last I read. Other than a couple of speeding tickets in her lifetime, there are no red flags to be found,” Bruce informed her, the pair making their way to the balcony for a bit of privacy. He shut the door behind them to cut off the loud noise of music, and walked over to his fiancée. “I’ll do a more thorough background check when the party clears off.” 

“You don’t have to go through such trouble,” Clara told him. 

“Clara, you have good instincts. Your judgment is one that I would follow without question. If you feel that something is off with Oliver’s PA then I trust it,” Bruce replied, seriously. “It could be nothing serious, but with the way things are now…I’d rather leave nothing to chance, if I can help it.” 

Clara rolled the tension from her shoulders. “I suppose you are right. You usually are. Fine, we’ll look more into her. I’ll see if Collin can spare Felicity for a few days. Her and Barbra are powerhouses in their own right, but together there isn’t anything they can’t do. I believe those two could do the impossible if they set their minds to it,” the Kryptonian said, quietly. Collin Sullivan was her best friend from high school, who now ran the Daily Planet and had a genius daughter named Felicity Smoak. Felicity helped fortify the WatchTower when she was only a preteen and had taken over the main hub responsibilities alongside of J’onn Jones when she was sixteen under the name of Overwatch. At eighteen, she started her company SmoakTech and helped upgrade the Justice League mainframe every other week, especially with Wonder Woman having invested hackers into trying to corrupt the WatchTower. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Bruce questioned. 

Clara raised a brow. 

Bruce sighed, heavily. “Jason doesn’t get anything done when Felicity is around.” 

Jason Todd, the new Robin, had quite a bit crush on Felicity. 

“I’m sure Barbra will be able to keep him in line,” she grinned, with a light laugh. “If not, she can just threaten him with you beaming down from the WatchTower and kicking his butt into shape. That give him the scare he needs into behaving. But let’s not borrow trouble right this second. I’d rather just savor being here with you for as long as I can without the outside world pressing in.” 

“The way you say savor makes me think that you have plans for me, Miss Kent,” Bruce smirked, his blue eyes became hooded. He stepped forward, his fingers stroked on the side of her neck lightly and he bent his head down to rest his forehead against hers. “What nefarious plans do you have in store for me this time?” 

She surveyed him through her eyelashes, with a deliberately slow gaze that held heat and fire while the corner of her mouth turned upward. Tonight would be one of the few nights after they slipped away that she would have him all to herself in a long time, and she intended to make the most of it. “Nothing that would put a strain on your faculties,” she said, coyly. “And I think you will find my nefarious plans to your liking.” 

The kiss was a gentle and lazy exploration, a slow simmering heat that stirred something heady up in her blood and Clara’s body softened, pressing forward against his body. The crisp layers of the suit were just enough resistance to keep her from feeling the hard planes of his body like she wanted to and her hands quivered in the urge just to tear it off of him. He had fussed the last time she did that at a party, but she knew he had enjoyed it nonetheless. She felt a hint of his teeth, and tip of his tongue that licked at the seam of her mouth. She opened her mouth, to let him take charge of the kiss— 

Gunfire erupted from somewhere inside of the mansion. 

* * *

Leliana Jamie Evans-Black read the message on her cellphone. Her heart is clenched tight with fear, all her organs seem to sink into the bottom of her feet and it takes everything in her to keep up the tight-lipped composure that she is so well known for. The mask that she wears in front of the flashing cameras and people she doesn’t trust, is that of a cold, analytical woman who is career driven with few if any emotional connections. The truth was that Leliana, formerly Aster Potter, was the opposite of what she appeared, driven heavily by her emotions. The most notable emotion that drove her forward was fear—the fear of loss, the fear of love, the fear of so many things that would shatter if they were to happen. 

It would be easier if she had never become a PA to Oliver Queen, or didn’t work in just a high profile place as Queen Consolidates. Easier to hide beneath the radar and sneak by with no eyes on her back, but choices were so finicky and impossible to predict. A choice she made here could collide with someone else’s choice, and in a way such colliding choice is why she had met Oliver in the first place. She had been in a dark place after setting up plausible and rock solid backgrounds for her and Teddy, as well as the house elves who could use a human glamour to hide their true forms so that they may interact with the outside world without fear. She had to dip into mind arts, and use imperio on a number of people to her shame, in order to get the job done. 

The justifications for using such dark arts just left a sour taste in her mouth. She hated having those spells used on her during the war, and to use them on another person just left a blight deep in her soul. _The end justifies the means,_ was a poor excuse in her mind, but one that she clung to in the early days in order to make it through for everyone who depended upon her. She was the one that drug her family through an archaic ritual and into a new world with the help of Death, so it was her responsibility to see that they were taken care and protected. 

And she needed just a moment, just a split second to let all that fall away. 

So she claimed a seat on a park bench, allowing herself a brief respite. Beside her on the park bench was a strange man. Normally, this would be a wholly bad situation. Strange man in the park sounded like the beginning of every horror story played on the evening news, but he hadn’t been creepy strange. Just a strangely sad man with blond hair and deep hazel eyes, with a beard style that shouldn’t work on anyone yet just added a level of charm to him. He wore nice suits, with a bag of bird seed in his hands and fed the pigeons with idleness like he just needed something in order to pass the time—in order to have the seconds in the day not seem so monotonous and grey. 

For all the love in her heart for her son and her mismatched family, Leliana had been a lonely soul with no focus or drive that wasn’t attached to building a happy life for her family. She was a lonely soul that appreciated the call of sorrow in the stranger that always found a seat next to her. So by the third time they had found themselves on the bench in the matter of two weeks’ time, she gathered up her courage and started a conversation. He was hesitant, at first. Given who he was, he had to be. Not that Leliana knew who was, she had more important things on her mind than to listen or pay attention to celebrity gossip. The conversations that followed were painfully polite, and it wasn’t until she brought Teddy with her one day that the man softened. Teddy had a way to doing that, a way of making people happy with just a smile. 

One day, the man that she knew as Ollie walked her home. Her magic had glossed across his thoughts, not enough to be intrusive, but enough to see that his intentions were pure before she agreed. There were gang issues arising in Star City, a gang called the Toymakers led by a villain named the Trickster; he, his wife and son who had been terrorizing the streets. When he had found the hovel that they lived in which old windows that couldn’t lock and a front door that looked one good kick could knock it in, he hadn’t been happy. (He didn’t know that her magic fortified the rundown place, and it was much nicer on the inside.) 

Soon afterwards, he offered her a job at Queen Consolidates and revealed that he was Oliver Queen, billionaire and celebrity. He needed a PA that he could trust after his last one Isobel Rochev had tried to steal from the company, and the position paid a good amount that could easily upgrade her family’s living situation. Leliana refused the offer at first, stating that she had money for a nicer place—understatement of the century, she was loaded—but was trying to be wise with it. That was completely true, just not for the reasons one would automatically assume. It wasn’t the amount of money that she was worried about or having to save back, it was putting too much into a bank or spending too much right away that she tried to avoid. 

After all, money talks and sometimes, the things it says might not always be good ones. She hadn’t wanted anyone to place her under scrutiny until she was absolutely certain that it would stand up to the test. If it had just been her, she might have been more liberal with her decision. As it stood, she was a paranoid bitch with a self-sacrificing complex that would see her gnaw off her own arm rather than place those that she loved in the slightest danger if she could damn well avoid it. 

However, Oliver was stubborn just as she was. He had liked that she hadn’t known who he was, and that she was determined to carve her own way instead of letting someone hand it to. She wanted to earn what she had, and that was a novelty when it came to people who wanted to get close to him. So he offered the job, helping finding a house, and a person to teach her how to manage a budget so she could get her family out of the area where the Trickster had been targeting. When a building across the street had been exploded and people killed, it had prompted Leliana into accepting the offer. 

Leliana was a powerful witch, there was no denying that. She was, however, not a god and no matter how much protection she put into place to keep her family safe, there was no such thing in life as a hundred percent guarantee safety. What if Dobby and Winky had been out on the street, taking a walk like they loved to do? What Teddy and Flutterby had been playing in the playground that the building had collapsed down upon only seconds after the explosion? She had been sitting out on the steps of her building when firefighters and police swarmed the scene, and Ollie showed up almost immediately afterward. Pale-faced and stricken, she looked him the eye and just nodded. 

In two days, they were moved into a new home and Leliana started her job. She made sure to be efficient and meticulous, putting every inch of what Andromeda taught her about manners and etiquette into practice. She was determined to earn her place in the company, and to prove that Oliver’s good faith had been worth it. She did keep a professional front with him, though she lowered her walls when they were one on one. Not completely lowered, but she was more open and more true to herself around him than with any others, sans her family. 

There was a swell of affection and dare she say adoration, she felt for Oliver though she would never admit it out loud. What she felt sounded too close to love, and by Merlin, she didn’t want to be in love. Love made things messy and complicated, and she liked being at ease with Ollie. She like how they worked together with the smoothness of a well-oiled machine. She didn’t want to lose that so she worked hard and was unfaltering loyal to the man who showed her kindness when it gained him nothing to do so. She had been a stranger to him; he could have turned his back and washed his hands of the situation without batting an eye. Instead, he helped her and she couldn’t put into words the swell of appreciate and adoration that she held for him. He had a good heart and a lot of demons, but Oliver Queen was someone that Leliana realized she would go to the ends of the earth to protect. He had become one of her “precious people” as Teddy liked to say, and precious people were protected at all cost. 

“You’ve got that frown,” Oliver told her, with a blond brow arched. 

“Oh?” Leliana glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye. “What frown would that be?” 

“The one that says you are thinking way too damn much to be at a party,” he retorted, with a guilelessly sort of smile. 

She snorted. “I always think too damn much regardless of the venue. We did a really good job, though, didn’t we? Everything looks nice, every detail is in place, and hopefully everything runs smoothly,” she said, a hint of nervousness in her babble. It had been a joint charity event between Wayne Enterprises and Queen Consolidates, meaning Leliana was one of the people who handled the arrangements to get the ball rolling. However, parties tended to make her nervous and uncomfortable. Her Potter Luck always got her into sticky situations, so when things were going _too_ right she felt like the other shoe was about to fall. 

“Everything is perfect. You have an eye for detail,” Oliver reassured her, taking her arm and leading her through the crowd over to a corner where they could sit down. They had made the rounds and talked to some politicians and stock holders, so now they could get a brief break so long as no one else interrupted them. 

“You’re biased.” 

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” 

Leliana smiled, her expression softened ever so slightly. Her cellphone buzzing in her hand, startled her slightly. Her eyes darted down towards it, but only someone as close to her as Oliver picked up on the anxiety of the action. 

“Is it Teddy?” Ollie inquired. 

She nodded, after reading the short text. “He’s finally asleep. Donald had some trouble putting him to sleep, he usually likes me to read him a story and tuck him in,” she responded, a shadow of despair falling over her face like a dark veil. Her throat trembled, she dropped the phone down into her silver clutch and snapped it shut. Donald, or better known as Dobby, would let her know if anything changed. She hated being away from her son. The constant fear that lived in her now would drive her to do desperate things, and she was so aware of how monsters could be born in desperation. 

His hand settled on top of hers, his thumb brushed along her knuckles with a feather light touch. His hands were hands that had hurt and helped; hands of hard worker and out of place on a man who grew up in a life of luxury. His long and powerful fingers had callous, specific to holding and harness different weapons. The back of his knuckles held scars from the brunt of fistfights and an unparalleled need to survive. Behind the stylish sports cars and suits and charming smiles, Oliver lived and breathed a life of violence in efforts to make the world a better place. 

He was the Green Arrow, though he didn’t know she knew. 

She had found out on accident. She had noticed him in pain a few times, and a couple of bruises here and there. Leliana had grown up having to hide bruises and pain inflicted on her by her uncle and aunt and cousin, so she knew all of the signs of abuse. It was not as common for men to be the victims of abuse as women were, but it still happened. When he would blow off her inquiries as if he were right as rain, Leliana decided to use a bit of subterfuge to get to the truth because if someone was hurting him then she was going to make whoever was responsible life a living hell. She threw on her invisibility cloak, and stalked him one night. 

Imagine her surprise when he had a secret lair underneath a club he owned called, _Verdant._ She almost rolled her eyes at the name when she realized he was the Green Arrow. He certainly had a theme and was whole heartedly sticking to it. She realized that his wounds weren’t from abuse though, but from crime fighting. His adult son, Conner Hawke, worked on the computer which wasn’t surprising given he was a technical genius. Connor stood as tall and broad as his father, with a boyish grin and dark rich skin and sharp eyes the color of molasses in the sun. He was witty and intelligent, always keeping his father on his toes even during a mission. John Diggle, the retired hero Spartan and wheel chair bound due to an old war injury that worsened over time, was also training Connor to one day taken on a hero career of his own. 

Leliana lingered, a silent and unseen observer for the entire of the mission. She had a feeling that John knew that something was off, his eyes constantly scanned the hide out as if to spot something out of place. There was also a moment where Oliver noticed something. It was when she slipped past him through the open door after he had returned to his civilian clothes, and he went utterly still, suspicion etched into his features. She wasn’t sure what almost gave her away, but she never did return to the hide out. Instead, she opted to put potions—stamina potions, healing potions—into his drinks. The bitterness of black coffee covered the taste of the potions. 

It was a little underhanded, but she wanted to help him in some way. Give him some advantage so he would make it home alive and whole at the end of the day. She didn’t worm her way in or bash her way into that part of his life like she would have only a few years ago, but she was more a Slytherin than a Gryffindor nowadays. Instead, she felt that if he wanted her to know then he would tell her. Besides, it would be hypocritical for her to call him out on his secrets when she had a wealth of her own to protect. Her green eyes flickered to her boss, a slight frown danced upon the edges of her mouth and she sipped delicately on the champagne, savoring the seductive burn trailed down her throat. She had looked up the history of the Green Arrow shortly after she figured out he was Oliver, and knew the reason he stopped being a hero was because of the death of Dinah Lance, the Black Canary. 

Her heart broke for him when she found that out. She had lost a lot of people in the Second Wizarding War. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, George, so many that she had been close to and counted amongst family. Their deaths were a burden still that set upon her shoulder and no amount of world hopping could erase it. She had never found a reason to be a hero again, too disillusioned by the corruption and crumbling friendships to stay in that world and find a reason to try. But Oliver had found a reason to get up and try again. A week after the explosion that prompted her to take the PA job, the Green Arrow was on the news alongside of the Flash. The pair had teamed up to take down the Trickster and his family before any more lives had been lost. 

Leliana wondered, if she had played any part in his decision. Such a thought left her with a tangled knot of emotions that she couldn’t work out in her head, and made her very anxious despite her cool exterior. “He’s been a little under the weather,” she told him, with a strained smile. “So I’ve been stressed. I suppose that I can’t help, but to be worried.” 

“You’re a parent,” Oliver told her, lightly. “It comes with the territory.” 

“I guess it does,” Leliana chuckled. She glanced down at their entwined fingers, and after a long pause, released his hand. She settled it in her lap, folded over her silver clutch and tried to ignore the way her skin still tingled from his touch. 

“Don’t worry,” Oliver spoke up, straightening his tie even though it was perfectly fine. “Nothing is going to happen.” 

A gasp tore through her lips, and she covertly squatted his arm when she sure no one was looking. 

“What did I do to deserve that?” Oliver laughed. 

“Because you!” She whispered out, pointing an accusing finger at him. Her expression incredulously, and her brows were furrowed together into a knot. “You just said nothing is going to happen. That’s taunting fate! You don’t do that! It’s a law, some guy named Murphy wrote about it!” 

Oliver gave her a deadpanned stare. “Don’t you think you are going overboard?” 

“My life experience says not,” she retorted, giving him a tiny glower. 

Gunfire erupted from near the entrance. Leliana was rattled by the burst of noise, memories of a magical war flashed behind her eyes and knocked the breath from her lungs. She surged to her feet—to fight or to flee—but Oliver grasped her by the waist and moved with the swiftness of his battle honed senses. While many people ducked and covers, or screamed, Oliver dragged Leliana through the servant’s entrance and down a flight of stairs. “Oliver, those people—” Leliana rasped out, her conscious was unsettled by leaving innocent—well, mostly innocent people to gunmen. 

“The gunmen shot up towards the ceiling to startle everyone into compliance,” Oliver told her, his voice hurried and rushed. “They aren’t looking to massacre everyone at the charity. They are here for a specific reason.” 

“A specific reason doesn’t mean they won’t hurt people,” Leliana responded, sharply. 

“No, they’ll definitely try to hurt some people, but they won’t get a chance.” 

“You don’t know that!” Leliana argued, when he pulled her down a hallway. He swiftly unlocked a nearby room with a key given to him by Bruce. From what Leliana understood, it was a sign of a great deal of trust to give a copy of a skeleton key. Apparently Bruce Wayne was a bit paranoid, and had very few that he trusted explicitly. 

“Maybe I don’t know,” Oliver said, guiding her through the threshold. “What I do know is mean like this…they have their eyes on a big target. I am a big target, meaning you are a big target which is why you are going to stay here, away from the danger.” 

Her green eyes flared dangerously. “Oliver Queen—” 

Oliver swiftly shut the door, and left the key in the old lock, making it impossible for her to open from the inside by any natural means. Her fist slammed down on the dark stained oak door, and she growled out, “You are such a bloody git! If you do something reckless, I swear by God’s green earth, Oliver I will make sure you live in paperwork hell for the foreseeable future!” 

He was probably already gone, but she hoped he felt a shiver down his spine from her threat. She knew he didn’t know that she was quite capable of handling herself, but the idea of him being out there without any backup make her stomach twist into violent knots. She turned around, surveying the room with a piercing glower, and instinctively her magical flared up the runes in her eyes. She could see every speck of dust and detail that the dark room had to offer, and that’s when she saw the camera. 

A camera—not very obvious, very concealed—in the corner of the ceiling. The runes she had burned and magically stored into the vitreous chamber of her eyeball which was activated by a flare of magic through the optic nerve was able to pinpoint the camera immediately, and she was careful not to look it head on. One, she shouldn’t know it was there and secondly when her runes were activated, the lens of her eyes glowed causing the anterior chamber to glow unnaturally white. It wasn’t unreasonable for such security measures. This room wasn’t used every day, she could tell and likely the camera was there just as precaution should someone try to steal or break in—given the rooms location, the windows led out to a terrace that if one was skilled enough could access. 

The sound of gunfire made her pulse throb in the base of her throat. She just couldn’t sit idle, not when she knew that Oliver was likely out there as the Green Arrow. She couldn’t just go charging out there, either. Her magic could easily unlock the door, but the camera was a deterrent. She didn’t know if the gunmen had cut off the security measures, or if they were completely unaware of them. Still she wasn’t foolish enough to try something when eyes could very well be on her. Drawing in a shakily breath, she made her way over to bathroom and walked into it. It didn’t have a camera—at least, she hoped not. If it did then she sorely misjudged Bruce Wayne’s character. 

She shut and locked the door behind her, her mouth going dry with anxiety. Her fingers fumbled to open her clutch, and she withdrew her cellphone from it. The screen was going crazy. The image of her and Teddy at the park going fuzzy like an old television that had lost signal, and it only took her a split second to realize that the cell service was being jammed. If the cell phones were useless, then the landlines were, too. So she couldn’t get ahold of the police this way, her hand reached down into her purse when she suddenly went utterly still. A thin, cold chain brushed against the palm of her hand and suddenly, Leliana had a very clever plan. 

She grasped the necklace, pulling it out. She had thought to test this out in a safe environment. Her eyes stared at the golden chain, and the circular pendant that held a tiny little hourglass on it. It seemed that she had little choice now, because she wouldn’t get a chance to kill two birds with one stone ever again. So Leliana closed her eyes, her fingers grasping the tiny knob and she spun it twelve times. 

In the next second, Leliana Evans-Black vanished. 

* * *

The stench of fear was pungent, and panic shivered down the spines of the people cowering in terror from the gunmen who stormed into the room. Screams erupted stifled by another round of gunfire, tables and chairs were overturned in the sudden chaos. Clara viewed the pandemonium through the solid stone, her eyes lit up with her x-ray vision and she released her grip on Bruce’s waist after having flown them up to the rooftop. “I’ll take care of the gunmen,” Clara said, all business. In a blur too fast to see, she went from her dress into her costume. In the palm of her hand was a black tackle suitcase, Clara held it out towards him and he accepted it gracefully. He couldn’t always go to the batcave to suit up, especially given that the thugs entered the Wayne Manor. It implied that something in the security for the charity went awry, and their greatest fear was that whoever was behind this had an inkling of Batman’s identity. If so, then they had to make sure that they didn’t get anywhere near the secret entrances to the cave and expose Bruce to the world. 

Superwoman swooped into the room, just in time to see the infamous villain Dr. Blades step forth with a wicked smile on his face. He was a criminal archeologist that she only knew by reputation, whom had a great fascination for artifacts with mystical powers. He had mostly been obsessed with the Aztec treasures of Razamuma, but Superwoman could not think of a single item in that auction that could have drawn his attention. Then again, she hadn’t seen the full itinerary. “That’s far enough!” Superwoman ordered, floating in the air with her arms folded over her chest. 

“It’s a Superwoman!” 

“We’re saved!” 

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Dr. Blades smiled, thinly. “Superwoman might be bulletproof, but all those bullets flying haphazardly off into the crowd? Someone is bound to get very, very hurt.” 

Superwoman scowled, knowing that he had a point. The velocity that the bullets would fly off of her with this many surrounding people, she couldn’t risk taking out the gunmen until Batman arrived. A quick scan of the room made her realize that Oliver was missing—along with Leliana—so that might mean the Green Arrow was about to make an appearance as well. “What are you after here, Dr. Blades?” She inquired, trying to buy her precious time and kept a wary eye on the gunmen who held the barrels steady on the kryptonian. “What are you after? Surely, you didn’t think you can get in and out of here without incident.” 

“Do you really think that asking me will get me to spill me plans?” Dr. Blades spoke, with a flat stare at the superhero. 

Superwoman shrugged. “It’s worked before.” 

Batman had slid open a window at the corner of the room, very carefully. He balanced his feet along the windowsill with a grace that few could manage, his fingers darted across the lit screen projected form his left gauntlet. It was a mechanism that could jam nearby guns with magnet interference and she knew that he could deal with, at least, two of the gunmen that way. Two less guns to worry about, but it didn’t ease her concerns. She knew through the grapevine that Dr. Blades was one of the first villains that Wonder Woman contacted to join her new army, but information had indicated that the man’s vanity would not allow him to bend knee to another. _Could something have changed that?_ Superwoman thought, with her heart in her throat. 

It wasn’t impossible for him to gather man power. He had been wealthy from his black market deals, so he could certainly afford a number of mercenaries. Still there was something that told her that this was no mere attempt at money or jewels, that there was a far more sinister purpose for the evil archaeologist’s arrival. 

Green Arrow jumped down from the second floor landing, and his body rolled against the marble flooring to absorb the impact of the fall. He was immediately on his feet, and fired off a trick arrow. The arrow soared through the air, and when it reached the space between two of the thugs, Green Arrow pressed a button along the shaft of his bow. The arrow exploded, shooting out to pieces of metal that latched onto the two men and sent out an electric shot that had them crumbling to the ground in the next moment. 

One thug turned towards the green clad villain, and went to the pull the trigger of his gun only to find himself staring down Superwoman who had a hand pressed over the end of the barrel. Superwoman flashed him a pearly white smile, and then punched the man in the face sending him flying back. Two other criminals tried to fire off their weapons, only to find them jammed. One let out a shriek of horror when Batman leapt down and landed in front of him. The Dark Knight lunged forward, a dark blur of motion that was hard to keep up with. With a swift up cut and elbow to the temple, he subdued another one of Dr. Blades’ thugs. 

Batman grunted when he felt the butt of a gun slammed into the back of his skull with enough force to render a man without armor protection, but thankfully he was smart enough to have his helm reinforced. He whirled around, throwing his fist into the man’s stomach. The man grunted, stumbling backwards. The Dark Knight surged forward, and the clashed in a flurry of fists and kicks. The criminal pulled a knife from his belt, and tried to thrust it towards his jugular. 

Batman blocked it with his gantlet, catching it between the sharp edges. With a sharp twist of his arm, he sent the knife clattering to the floor and then spread out his fingers, bringing both of his hands sharply against the man’s skull just around his ears. It was a powerful stunning technique, and the man squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his ears in obvious pain. Three good punches to the face and the man dropped to the ground in a lifeless heap. 

Dr. Blades watched the battle, his face turning puce in fury. He looked at his remaining three men, and barked out, “Leave them! Find the Deathly Hallows!” Dr. Blades shouted at his men, when suddenly the air in the room when artic cold. The floor seemed to vibrate and the lights flickered ominously before a shadowy figure seemed to detach from the blackness of night beyond the windows and pool into the room. The darkness lunged forward in a cloud of smoke, wrapping around the three heroes and the bad guys. 

When the smoke dispersed, all of them stood in the Wayne Manor courtyard. Batman whipped around, sling a batrang only for it to turn into a black bird and fly away into the night. Superwoman turned around, a hard gasp fall from her lips when she saw a familiar masked figure. It was the person who had stolen Nicolas Flamel’s journal! 

“What the hell,” Green Arrow bit out. 

The magic user lunged forward and grabbed the barrel of the gun on the nearest criminal. He pulled the trigger, but before the bullet could even travel down the barrel, the machine shifted form. The metal melted into slithering scales, a black venomous snake that coiled swiftly around the criminal’s throat and wrapped around tight enough to cause him to panic. A strained scream ripped up his throat, his hands clawing at the snake while he flailed backwards. Green Arrow lunged, knocking the man out with a powerful strike to the back of his skull. He dropped into a heap upon the floor, and the snake landed on the ground with a soft thud before it turned back into a gun. 

The mage spun around in a whirl of motion and drove a swift uppercut to the thug that aimed his gun at Green Arrow’s back. He went flying backwards into Batman, whom used the voltage pulse feature on his gauntlet to send a jolt of electricity that left the man twitch uselessly on the ground. The last criminal was apprehended by Superwoman who had taken the nearby drapery, and wrapped the man up like he was an early Christmas present. 

Dr. Blades shrank back in on himself, his eyes darted across all the men that he had hired as if realizing how badly his ingenious idea had gone awry. His eyes bulged out of his skull and his chin quivered when the nightmarish magician turned towards him, and took a slow, lethal step forward. 

_“Now what would you know of the Deathly Hallows?”_ A voice that was neither male nor female reverberated through the floor and walls. The temperature plummeted, making it icy and frigid. The sensation of death seemed to crackle in the air as the lights flickered and the shadows seemed to stretch outward, causing people to shrink back and shudder in fear. _“Such knowledge is beyond the mortals of this plane.”_

Green Arrow had an arrow drawn back, pointed straight at their enigmatic “friend’s” head. Batman blocked off any possible escape for Dr. Blades while Superwoman surveyed the tense scene with apprehension. The feeling that rolled of the magician was suffocating and oppressive, as if hand designed to dance along the nerve endings that signaled fear and despair. 

Dr. Blades paled, his eyes riveted on the terrifying figure. “Wh—what are you?” He stuttered, violently. His back bowed forward, until he was hunched defensively and his body quaked like a leaf. “Ho—ow do you know of wh—what I seek?” 

Superwoman felt her fingers curl into her palms, and the sensation that she was missing something curled up at the base of her skull like an incessant buzzing noise. The sheer menace and darkness that rolled off the figure in waves made a shiver dart down her spine, and sent the alarm bells inside of her mind in overdrive. She had faced many terrifying villains over the years, but she had never felt one that made her feel the prickle of death along her skin. There was no mistaking that this magician was dangerous when crossed, and even more so worrisome was that the magician didn’t even seem to be bothered to be surrounded by the heroes. It was as if the mysterious friend—or foe—didn’t take notice of them as a threat, which could be incredibly naïve or a further testament to how deadly the magic user was. 

_“I am curious and concerned soul,”_ the figure purred, tone calm, but full of righteous outrage. With a gloved hand raised in a flourish, the magic user summoned the totem from around Dr. Blades neck; the archaeologist startled violently when the chain gave away. _“How quaint. A death totem created from bone of a newborn baby and obsidian stone that has been soaked in the blood of a virgin. Hmm, that’s very dark magic that you have dabbled in to attempt to chain the souls of the dead to your command.”_

Superwoman gasped, recoiling at the description of the amulet. 

Green Arrow wavered, his hand twitched almost like he wanted to re-aim his arrow at the demented archeologist. He shared a quick glance with Batman, before the Dark Knight spoke up, “And how do you know that is how the amulet was made?” 

_“Dark magic leaves a taint, a residue on the soul. If one knows enough about soul magic, it is easy to unravel the methods behind such totems as these,”_ the magician answered, almost amicably. _“One could question why you toy with forces beyond your ken, whether your deed was done out of desperation, greed or apathy. Maybe a mix of all three, but I don’t really care what your motives are and I especially don’t care how you justify them to yourself. All I want is a simple answer to a simple question: how you learned of the Deathly Hallows?”_

Dr. Blades opened his mouth, and then it clicked shut. It seemed as if he had realized the gravity of the situation he had gotten himself into, and knew if he simply gave the answers away then he would decrease whatever value he had in the eyes of this new threat. 

The magician tilted their head to the side with an almost cat-like mannerism while they rolled the amulet of the necklace around in the palm of their hand, and observed it idly with unseen eyes hidden by the unnatural shadows that fluttered underneath the cowl. A strangely silent debate was happening inside the person’s head, Superwoman could tell and finally a decision was made when the magician closed her fingers purposefully around the repulsive amulet. Tighter and tighter the hand clutched the amulet and it began to crack, and in those fractures an angry red light started to leak out. The hint of whispered agonized screams sent the archeologist into frenzy, and he lunged at the cloaked person with a cry of panic. 

Batman caught the villain, pinning his arm behind his back with a ruthless force. Dr. Blade cried out in pain and fear, but his body struggling against the Dark Knight’s superior strength in spite of this. The amulet being destroyed had driven him in madness, spittle flying out of his mouth while he cursed the magician with every ugly word known to man. 

“What are you doing?” Green Arrow demanded, angrily. 

_“Freeing the poor souls this fiend has trapped,”_ the concealed person spoke, voice clipped and bitter. With one last squeeze, the death totem was shattered and the magician opened their palm, revealing a pile of crushed stone and a tiny toe bone that were encased in an eerie red light. With the tilt of the magician’s hand, the pieces of the amulet fell to the ground and from them arose three red orbs. The orbs swirled and circled Dr. Blades like a vulture. _“They want revenge for what you’ve subjected them to, you know? I wonder just what price they’ll make you pay given how much pain and suffering you’ve put them through.”_

“Wait!” Superwoman blurted out, alarmed. “You can’t—” 

_“You assume I have control over them,”_ the cloaked figure slanted a look at the alien. 

“With all your little tricks, you are telling me you can’t control spirits?” Green Arrow accused, darkly. 

_“It is possible I could,”_ was the vague reply. _“But I’m not entirely sure I_ should.” 

“He will be brought to justice,” Batman promised, his tone fierce as was his glare. 

The magician leveled a long look at the notorious Dark Knight, as if weighing the validity of his words before giving a small soundless nod and tilted their chin up towards the spirits swirling about angrily. A sentence whispered in words similar to that of Latin, the spirit dispersed and faded out of existence. _“So long as he pays for his crimes, the souls that he had tortured will not demanded his blood. Know that if he escaped his punishment, I will not be responsible if the souls were to reemerge and exact their revenge,”_ the magician responded, quietly. _“As for his knowledge…”_

Dr. Blades suddenly choked, grasping at his skull. 

“What did you do?” Green Arrow asked, eyes narrowed. 

_“Insuring silence,”_ the magician said, with a shrug of their shoulder. _“Well, this has been fun—”_

“Hold on, you aren’t going anywhere,” Superwoman said, firmly. 

The masked figure disappeared with a crack, their laughter echoing long after they were gone. 

“Son of a bitch,” Green Arrow cursed, violently. “I’m getting tired of that already.” 

* * *

It was a half-hour later that the police had all the suspects in hand, and were driving them off to the jailhouse while Commissioner Gordon was receiving a report from Superwoman while Bruce and Oliver changed back into their suits. It was far faster and easier for Superwoman to become Clara in the blink of an eye, rather than the boys. There was an ambulance that drove off a couple of older citizens who had heart issues that had been exasperated by the shooting, but thankfully nothing fatal had befallen anyone in the crossfire of Dr. Blades scheme for the Deathly Hallows. Not even the thugs that had aided the villain in the attack sustained permanent damage. 

It was going to be a long, long night. 

Several news outlets stood outside, shoving microphones and cameras in the people who were released after interviewing the police and many different version about the night had already been aired. The Warlock, as the magic user had been called by one journalist and others followed suit, had been a point of much speculation. Some called for authorities to apprehend this villain who obviously must be in cahoots with Dr. Blades. Others spread the tale that this was some upstart hero wanting to impress the Justice League. 

“So this new vigilante isn’t part of your group?” Gordon questioned, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“No,” Superwoman replied, with a shake of her head. “Whoever the “Warlock” is doesn’t strike me as someone interested in being a hero. Not a villain either. This wasn’t about appearances, or an attempt for attention, but had been distinctly personal. It makes curious as to what the De…” 

Superwoman went stock still, a flicker of shock rushed through her blue eyes. 

“Superwoman?” Gordon looked at her with concern. 

“It’s just that…” Her brows knotted together, and her lips twisted downward. “I know that Dr. Blades spoke of the artifact by name. It was mentioned several times throughout the encounter with the Warlock, but for the life of me, I cannot recall it. It’s as if…” 

“It’s been entirely erased from your memory?” Bruce finished, entering the drawing room. He left the door half cracked, enough to the large room where the guest and other police were to give the illusion of inclusion. The new Mayor of Gotham City, Sebastian Blood, had been putting pressure on the GCPD to not ally themselves with vigilantes or superheroes so Gordon had to take great pains to make sure that he didn’t fall under suspicion given the many times he had teamed up with Batman in the past. Any nosy police or people that believed Gordon had something to hide when it came to his work relations with the heroes could lead to serious trouble, and it was believed that only lies and secrets happened behind closed doors. An open door gave the deception that there was nothing to hide. 

“Yes,” Superwoman nodded. “You think the Warlock—” 

“Insuring silence? Yes, I do,” Bruce replied, grimly. 

“But when the Warlock insured said silence, Dr. Blades…” The Kryptonian trailed off, a thoughtful expression on her face. “It wasn’t pain why he cried out. He realized what she did right away and was angry about it.” 

“That’s my belief as well,” Bruce nodded. He turned a stony gaze on Gordon, and folded his arms over his chest. “I see that you have the criminals well in hand.” 

“Loaded up in vans and on their way to prison,” Gordon confirmed, his mustache twitched. “Hopefully, this time Dr. Blades will be in for a long stay instead of paying off a judge or two.” 

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Bruce promised. “Make sure there are no strings for him to pull.” 

“Good,” Gordon said, sincerely. “That will take some weight off of my shoulders. Now, I’ll leave you two alone. I think I have enough information to finish up a report, and as much I would love to stay and chat, there are too many eyes and ears out there for my liking.” 

“Of course, Jim,” Superwoman said, softly. “We don’t want to put you in a position where your job is on the line.” 

“Hey, I’ve risked my job plenty of times for you capes and done so gladly,” Gordon said, with a half-smile. “And I will continue to do so to the best of my ability. However, that doesn’t mean I want the full scope of Mayor Blood’s suspicion falling directly on my shoulders. Anyways, I better go help with the chaos. Meanwhile, stay safe and stay sharp.” 

“Always,” Bruce smirked. 

Gordon walked out of the room, followed by Superwoman who tossed Bruce a quick wink before she blurred out of the room. About a minute ticked by while Bruce waited patiently, and then the door to the hallway behind him opened up, and Clara appeared in her dress and not a hair out of place. “I have certainly perfected the applying makeup and hair styling with super speed,” Clara snorted, mildly amused. “Not a talent I never thought I would ever need, but it certainly comes in handy from time to time. How do I look? Every look alright, like I have been just standing around in a dress this whole time and at no point fought any criminals tonight?” 

“You look perfect,” Bruce said, with a crooked grin. 

Clara ran her hand down the length of his arm with her free hand, while he slid it around his arm around the small of her back and drew her closer. “I have to admit that I’m more than a little worried, given recent developments,” she admitted, raising her other hand to draw his finger along the length of the collar of his suit. “With Diana and this war she seems intent to draw all heroes and villains into to exact revenge, I don’t like the fact that this new player has shown up twice so close to us. I’m usually an optimist, but—” 

“It’s suspicious,” Bruce finished, with a small nod. “I agree with you. There is something more to what is going on here, and we need to figure this out quickly. I don’t like that this…Warlock,” he said, his nose wrinkled with distaste, “showed up and has this book that had Diana wanted. We don’t know this man’s—” 

“Warlock could be a woman,” Clara interrupted, half-heartedly. 

“—motives,” Bruce continued, with a mild nod to silently tell her that he conceded her point. His palm lifted to caress the side of her face, his thumb traced the length of his jaw gently. “Not for obtaining the book, nor why this artifact was so important.” 

“I think we should consult Dr. Fate,” said the Kryptonian, looking up at him with bright and soulful eyes. “If anyone could tell us more about obscure artifacts and old magic, then it would be him.” 

“We’ll get in touch with him after we finish up here,” Bruce replied, quietly. 

“Do we have to go out there with all the press and cameras?” Clara said, with a deep whine. She loved being a journalist, and loved digging for the truth to stories that needed to be told. She did want she did to help people, and to make the world better. Not everyone in the news business held such morals. There was a wave of sensationalism where stories were elaborated or exaggerated in harmful or ignorant ways, and a good amount of people who wrote for tabloids were some of the worst kind of sensationalists there were. They didn’t care if the stories they printed were true or pure fabrications, only that it made them money. 

“We don’t have to speak to anyone,” Bruce promised her, with a half-smile. “Just go out there and speak with Oliver. Let him know about what the plan is moving forward, and that he is welcomed to join our efforts.” 

“Bruce, I…I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” 

“What do you mean?” He frowned. 

“You saw his reaction to the Warlock,” she mumbled, a note of disquiet in her voice. “He had that look in his eyes, Bruce. He sees the Warlock as another Damien Darhk, and you saw how much he lost himself in the darkness after Dinah’s death.” 

“Oliver isn’t the same person consumed by darkness, Clara,” Bruce countered, his chin jutted out as it always did when he was being stern and stubbornly wanted to his point across. “He has come a long way from those days. He had a lot of good things in his life now to keep him steady.” 

“I know that,” Clara nodded, gnawing on her lower lip for a moment. “I do know that. I just worry about our friends. Diana has gone all dark side, and Aquaman was all too happy to follow her. Shazam was murdered. Dr. Fate has gone into hiding, and the Justice League is being heavily monitored by Amanda Waller and ARGUS who is an ally or enemy given what day of the week it is. Not to mention, all that we’ve been through. It’s been over two years now since…” 

“I know,” Bruce whispered out, his expression twisted in agony. 

Clara had tears swell in her eyes. “I miss her so _much_. We didn’t…we didn’t get enough time,” she croaked, her chin trembling. They didn’t really ever speak much about what happened all those years ago, the moment that shattered their marital bliss and uprooted their lives. It had been so painful of a loss to describe into words, and both of them had coped in very different ways. Bruce threw himself into being Batman, the only real way he knew how to deal with grief. Clara had thrown herself into world at the Daily Planet, and this created a huge gaping wound in their relationship. 

“We didn’t,” he agreed his voice rough with emotions. There was a slight quaking of his hand, but she held it tightly to steady him. He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes tightly. “I love you, you know that, right?” 

“I love you, too,” Clara responded, pressing a quick gentle kiss to his lips while a lone tear streaked down her cheek. 

* * *

There was a chill in the room, a lingering fear that seeped all the way through Oliver Queen as he stood there with his arms folded over his chest. He surveyed the room with a serious glower, and he glanced up when he noticed Bruce and Clara approach him. “You two sure took your sweet time,” he stated, with a sardonic tone. “The vultures are going to be lining up outside your mansion for the foreseeable future. I would be very careful with your nightly excursions for the seeable future, especially with Vicki Vale determined to shove her nose up your affairs.” 

Clara snorted, in mild amusement at the grimace that crossed Bruce’s face when he saw his ex-flame. “He’s gotten out of tougher situations. A clingy ex is hardly any threat,” she stated, with a good natured chuckle. 

Oliver laughed, underneath his breath. 

“Speaking of stubborn women, where is your personal assistant, Oliver?” Bruce inquired, a brow arched. 

The smirk on Oliver’s face dropped fast. 

It was as if summoned by fate, Leliana stormed into the large entryway with a police officer who followed, looking very flustered. All the blood leeched out of Oliver’s face, comically at the sight of the short, dark haired woman marching across the marble floor with her emerald dress swirling around her ankles like snakes. Her green eyes were filled with fury and her red lips pressed into a tight line. “Uh-oh,” he breathed out, a mixture of conflicting emotions surged across his features. 

“Ooooh,” Clara snickered. 

“Uh, Mr. Queen,” one of the police officers said, sheepishly. “While sweeping the area, we found a woman that was locked in the room and she—” 

“It’s fine,” Oliver interrupted, quickly. “She’s a…uh, a friend. She is with me. Thank you for returning her to me.” 

“Returning her? Like I’m some kind of misplaced property?” Leliana snapped, after the police officer fled as fast as he could. 

“What did you do to that poor man to send him running away like that?” Oliver chided. 

“If an angry woman sends him scurrying in the opposite direction, he is in the wrong profession,” Leliana retorted, marching right up to Oliver, and slapped his chest with her red clutch with enough force to sting. “I swear to God if you ever lock me in a room for my protection ever again, I will make sure you live the rest of your days regretting it,” she hissed out, with her eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Do you understand me?” 

“Completely,” Oliver swore, with only a split second of hesitation. 

Instantly the anger dissipated replaced with a bone deep relief. “I’m glad that you are alright. I was about to go out of my mind with worry,” Leliana admitted, running a weary hand down her face. “I could hear the gunfire and then there was a loud explosion? And…wow,” her green eyes widened at the shatter windows, and the crumbling wall. “That is quite a mess.” 

“That’s a big of an understatement,” Bruce commented, dryly. “I suppose it’s a blessing in disguise. We were thinking about renovating. This spares us a bit of a demolition.” 

Leliana’s brows lifted, mildly entertained by his blasé response. “I suppose _every_ cloud does have a silver lining.” 

“Have you already given your statement to the police?” Oliver asked, with a frown. 

“The officer who got me out of the room did,” Leliana assured him, with a wan smile. “Not that I could offer anything useful, seeing how I was hiding away in the bathroom. All I heard was gunfire before Mr. Protective dragged me out of the line of fire, and locked me up in a metaphorical tower.” 

Oliver scratched the back of his neck, nervously. “I am not going to hear the end of this, am I?” 

“Nope.” 

“You hid in the bathroom?” Clara questioned. 

“Not exactly my crowning moment, but I just thought that another barrier between me and the gunmen couldn’t hurt. That sounds horribly selfish given the poor people out here who were terrified beyond belief,” Leliana stated, with a light wince. She glanced at all the chaos, her shoulders slumped and expression downtrodden. “This is so horrible. I don’t understand what anyone gains from hurting innocent people. Surely there are other ways to get what they want.” 

“You assume whoever did this wanted something,” Bruce commented, his blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. 

“Why would someone go through the trouble otherwise?” Leliana asked. 

“Some people hurt others just because they can,” Bruce responded, cynically. “They want to watch the world burn, just because it pleases them.” 

A strange expression settled over Leliana’s face, a hint of unease in her gaze. She swallowed, her fingers curled into the palms of her hands. “That…” Her voice very raspy and restless, her eyes flickered away from Bruce. The muscle of her jaw grew taut, and her teeth sank into her lower lip. Something stirred inside of her, like she had suddenly been confronted by an ugly ghost that she hadn’t been expecting. “That is very terrifying when you put it like that.” 

Oliver felt his heart twinge at the look in her eyes, and felt compelled to reassure her. “Everything is alright, and everyone is okay. A couple of people had to be taken to the hospital, but from what I’ve heard, they’ll make through just fine. As for the people responsible, they’ve been apprehended,” he told her, resting his hands on her shoulders. His thumb likely tapped on her jawline, silently bidding her to raise her gaze to him. Once she did, he continued softly, “A few good superheroes stopped by and stopped everything before it got out of hand.” 

“What about—” Leliana hesitated. 

“What about what?” Oliver asked, with his brows lowered. 

“What about this…Warlock?” She asked, the words reluctantly coming up out of her. “The police officer who got me out of the room, said that another hero showed up?” 

“They aren’t a hero,” Oliver replied, his tone clipped. “They weren’t here to help people.” 

Leliana gave a slow, shallow nod. “Alright. Oh, God. This really is such a mess. I can’t even imagine where to begin with the cleanup. People will be calling inquiring about their donations, insurance company will be a nightmare, and—” 

“Leliana,” Oliver shushed, with a tone of infinite patience. “That can all wait for tomorrow, alright?” 

Leliana released the breath she had been holding, and her shoulders slumped while she ran a weary hand done her face. She nodded, weakly. “Alright. Alright, it can wait until tomorrow,” she agreed, as if the fight all drained out of her. 

“I’ll coordinate with you all later about to see if we can salvage this charity, among other things,” Olivier promised, turning to face Bruce and Clara. His hand slid down to the small of Leliana’s back, and she shifted on her heels to stand a little closer to him unconsciously. “For now, it’s best if Leliana and I head back to the hotel for the night. I think that we’ve all had enough excitement for the night.” 

“You two could stay here,” Bruce offered, after Clara nudged him the side with her elbow none too gently. 

“No, that’s alright. I appreciate the offer, but we’ve already booked the rooms,” Oliver said, with a shake of his head. He didn’t believe it was a good idea for Leliana to stay here. He was used to intense situations, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the anxiety in the air. Not a lot of people would be comfortable in a place that had been held up at gunpoint. 

“We understand,” Clara replied, with a smile. “Please be careful on your way back into the city.” 

“We will be.” Oliver nodded. His eyes flickered down the quiet woman at his side, and inquired, lightly, “Are you ready to go?” 

Leliana mustered up a small, wan smile. “I suppose we should, before the traffic becomes a nightmare,” she spoke, very softly. Her hand finding a place within his, the two murmured partings to Bruce and Clara before they left the mansion. Oliver had the strangest sensation in his gut, like a sinking stone and his eyes glanced at Leliana whose shoulders were lined with tension like she was carrying the weight of the world. It is moments like this where Oliver wondered about Leliana’s past that she rarely brought up. There was a dullness to her green eyes, the way she floated soundlessly on her feet unconsciously like a ghostly apparition that housed more tragedy than anyone should. There was a darkness in her, much like there was a darkness in him. 

The time spent on Lian Yu helped create that darkness in him. 

He found himself wondering what created the darkness in her. 

* * *

_Themyscira_

Diana watched with cold detachment from the balcony above how the torrent seas turned red around the island of Themyscira, the screams of her former brethren were like a melody to her ears as her Furies, undead Amazon awoken with the sole purpose to obey her commands, slaughtered every living soul in her old home. In visions of hellfire and brimstone, Ares existed in the back of Diana’s head like an old, festering wound. The infection bled to her every thought and the brightness of her soul had long since vanished, consumed by the blackness of vengeance. In the beginning, there were fleeting moments where Diana thought about her choices, and second guess her decisions. It was the second that she snapped Zara’s neck, all the doubts disappeared and she was given glorious purpose. 

This is what she was made for—to be a warrior, a _conqueror._

It should have been enough to see Zara and her zealots slain. It quenched the thirst of revenge, but a new and darker hunger emerged to take its place. There were monster that existed in the world, behind the deceitful faces of men and women. And worse more, there were societies that enabled these monsters to escape culpability for their crimes. The so-called heroes had been a temporary solution, creating the illusion of prosperity and hope, but Diana could see clearer now. 

She must reduce the world done to rubble, and rebuild it from the ground up. She had to wipe the slate clean if humanity was to survive and adapt, and if humanity failed…then they were too weak, and fragile to remain in the new world that she envisioned before her. 

The Justice League was left splintered. There were heroes who had become jaded enough to be swayed to her purpose, long enough to help her put the world changing plan into motion. Shazam—the gullible child playing hero—had gotten cold feet and Diana was forced to dispose of him. The action made the others in her group fear her, and some even flee though they would not make it very far. Those who stayed realized how damned they were, and had no way out. It was thrilling to see some of the world’s mightiest heroes kneel at her feet, and those that did not… 

She would bend them until they break. 

The grand golden doors opened into the Throne and Diana turned to see her lover, Arthur Curry, enter with two of his guards behind him. The guards dragged her mother, the disgraced Queen Hippolyta of Themyscira into the room. Her body beaten and broken, her knees dragged across the floor too weak to support her and she was thrown to the ground in front of the throne. Diana walked leisurely, her fiery eyes watched Hippolyta raise her head weakly and give her child a look of defiance and sorrow. 

And Diana felt nothing. 

She felt no regret or sorrow. She felt no stirring of emotional attachment for the woman who sculpted her out of clay and begged for her to be given life. Instead, there was a feeling of power and joy at seeing the high and mighty queen brought so low. “And so the reign of Queen Hippolyta ends with Themyscira and all those loyal burned to ashes,” Diana intoned, with a dark smirk as she graceful sat down on the throne. Aquaman came to stand at her side, as her consort—but never king, her kind was dead and blown to pieces. It was for the man who had been her true love, her kind that she would turn the world upside down to make up for what was stolen from her. “Tell me, mother, did your Gods and Goddess ever let you know that I was to be your doom? Did you ever imagine that it would be I standing here over you on the day of your death?” 

Hippolyta shook her head, her face twisted up with disappointment. “Diana, I pity you my daughter,” she croaked out, blood swelling up on her chapped lips. Her upper arms struggled to hold herself right while she stared up at Diana. 

“I don’t need your pity,” Diana spat, angrily. “I want your suffering! You—you _turned_ me away when I needed you most!” 

“I refused to be the one that turned you into a monster!” Hippolyta found the strength to shout back, her eyes glittered with bitter and resigned tears. 

“No, you refused because you wanted to punish me!” Diana roared, rising to her feet. Her face was twisted into a dark snarl, and her hands were clenched into fists at her side. “You hated that I gave up everything for a mortal man! When he died, you denied me the right to get him justice!” 

“Vengeance is not justice!” 

“Vengeance is _my_ justice!” Wonder Woman hissed out. 

Hippolyta shook her head slowly side to side. “My daughter, you are so blind. You cannot see hwo you’ve traded yourself away, sold your humanity for something that will not bring you peace or joy. You cannot change the past, Diana. No matter how blood you spill, your beloved one will not be returned to you. No power in the world can change that!” 

“Foolish mother,” Diana sneered, with angry flaring in her evil eyes, “you are the one who is blinded by your pathetic sentimentality. My humanity was a small price to pay to steer the wheel of destiny and reshape the world in my image. The feats of Olympus will be pale comparisons to the ones that I will create, and even death will bow down to me in the end. I’m almost tempted to let you live to see it, but…” 

Hippolyta closed her eyes in despair, knowing what was to come. 

“That would set a bad precedence,” Wonder Woman said, with a sharp smile. And with speed of lightning, Diana grabbed a sword from a nearby guard. She swung it around in a wide arc, without hesitation and without mercy. 

The blade sliced through flesh and bone like butter, and her mother’s head went rolling across the floor. 

An oily darkness bubbled up in her veins, feeding the wicked flames in her soul and she felt a smile stretch upon her lips at the sight of Hippolyta’s headless body that sat at her feet. Heat pulsed through her veins, and she felt drunk of the power that thrummed in her veins at the victory that had been granted to her on this night. She turned towards her lover, eyes bright with a maniac joy and her free hand wrapped around his neck. She pulled him into a dark and possessive kiss, where her tongue battled against his and teeth clanked together in the rush of passion that flooded through them. 

Wonder Woman tossed the sword aside, and it clattered to the floor carelessly next to the body. She broke the kiss long enough to order the guards to leave, and as soon as the door closed, her hands were tugging off her armor in haste. It was a desperate and consuming kind of lust that ignited inside her and the King of the Sea, white hot and burning that fulfilled the aching space in between. Her eyes were hooded and the corner of her mouth tipped upward in a smirk when she saw the lust on his face when the last piece of armor dropped to the floor with a metallic thud, and her fingers trailed up his chest hair before she shoved him back into the throne. 

Diana straddled his lap, allowing his manhood to brush against her most intimate parts in a slow teasing motion. His hands clamped down on her thighs with ironclad grip, so tight that it hurt so _good._ “Diana,” Arthur hesitated, his eyes briefly flickered over her shoulder at her mother’s corpse. 

Her hand grasped him by the chin, none too gently and drew his attention back to her, right before she sank down onto him. His eyes clenched shut while he groaned deeply, his forehead falling against her collarbone. He muttered an oath when she rocked against him, and he sloppily pressed kissing to her breasts while she established a steady and powerful rhythm. With their bodies cast in equal parts shadow and light, Diana buried her nails into his shoulder blades and felt her back arch when he hit something deep inside of her just right. 

It wasn’t love that spurred their bodies together. It was a fight, a spiral towards the high that made them feel burning, bright and alive—the high that came just before the fall down back into the darkness and madness. The smack of flesh echoed off the stone walls, and a moan rattled up her throat while the pleasure mounted and mounted. Arthur had one hand in her hair and the other toyed with her clit, Diana was perched on the edge of bliss with her breasts thrust upward and head tossed back as her hips rode his cock desperately. 

Still it wasn’t enough. She needed something _more_ … 

_What do you think he would do, if he knew?_ Crooned Ares’ voice deep within the depths of her mind. It stoked the fires within her and her insides quivered dangerously. _What do you think your love would do if he knew that it was you that killed his people? That it was you that murdered his wife and destroyed every living soul in Atlantis?_

And with that depraved thought, she fell over the edge with a scream of bliss. 

* * *


	2. ACT II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank Raggetymanftw, Oldrockjunky258, withasideofangst, Karcee, trihandayani, LilGurlWeird, A_Paula, WhatAmIDoingOnHere, BookofOdym, mamakoepp, Wildrose5494, Jane0Doe, xxxLeanniexxx, lukymiko, MrsCiaraIzabelle and 6 guests for all the kudos! :D  
> I want to thank, VoldyLady, ShadeSlayer0323, tinnitus, romanfire03, withasideofangst, Angel0923, The_Railgun_lvl5, Boomer1125, coastiewife465, JaneoDoe, lulymiko for the bookmarks!  
> I want to thank, Apnepesia, xxxLeanniexxx, JaneoDoe, Raggetymanftw, for commenting! 
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter Inspired by the Songs:  
> “Hold Me Down” by Hasley  
> “Almost Over” by Aquilo  
> “Icarus” by Bastille

ACT II 

_TURMOIL AND TRUTH_

_“Your best teacher is your last mistake.”_

—Ralph Nader 

* * *

Leliana hated herself, at times. 

Her fears ran so deep, and grew to so many, that she could hardly recognize herself anymore. Her choices were desperate and erratic, and she shuddered, feeling the hum of the Deathly Hallows prickle along her skin. Locked away and buried beneath the earth in a tomb that only she could unseal, the Hallows were kept out of reach of those that strived for immortality and power over Death. The Hallows were bonded to her soul and flesh. If she needed to summon them, she could but the magical backlash could alert other powerful beings on this earth of her existence, if they didn’t have an idea that she already existed. Pushing those thoughts to the dark recesses of her mind, Leliana ran a shaky hand through her damp hair, and smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles in her white t-shirt when Oliver strode through her kitchen, setting a cup of steaming hot cocoa in front of her. 

The kernel of guilt that always existed in her when she looked at the man who was probably her closest friend burned churning violently inside of her like a hurricane that grew increasingly more volatile each passing day. She hated the feeling of living two different lives, and hiding intricate pieces of who she was from him. “Thank you,” she smiled at him, gratefully. Her hands wrapped around the cup loosely, and she shifted in the chair while Oliver pulled up a seat at the breakfast bar. 

It had been roughly two hour since they had arrived back at the hotel, both weary and exhausted from the day’s events. The thrum of adrenaline had faded from her veins while she had stood underneath the hot shower spray, having striped away the dress and tossing her heels aside. She scrubbed her face clean of the makeup, feeling like it was a mask that she was striping bare. She just wished she could strip the mask off that mattered most. 

While she cleaned up, Oliver had taken it upon himself to make her favorite drink. It made her feel very warm inside that he cared enough to make it even though he clearly had a lot on his mind. He was the kind of person that took care of others, even when he was going through so much. Her green eyes flickered over him, where his outer jacket hung from the back of the chair without thought and the tie pulled loose around his neck. His staunch white shirt was crumpled up, and he undone his cuffs to slid his sleeve up to his elbows. 

Leliana went still, her eyes fixated on his arms and she felt her mouth go dry. There was something so alluring about seeing pristine and crisp fabric being pulled back to reveal defined muscles underneath. Biting the inside of her cheek, she tore her eyes away from him. She shouldn’t entertain those kinds of thoughts, especially with everything that was going on. He may be sitting languidly in the chair beside her, but only a fool would miss the undercurrent of tension that ran through him from head to toe. The crinkle of fine lines at the corners of his eyes, his shoulders extended forward ever so, and the way his jaw was clenched taut. 

She swallowed the lump in the back of her throat, hating the feeling that she has only further adding to his burdens. “You didn’t have to stay you know. I would have been fine,” she told him, running her thumb lazily around the rim of the cup. 

Oliver lifted his gaze slowly, and fixed it upon her. “You’ve been shaky ever since we left the mansion,” he countered, with a dour expression. It was that expression he used when he knew that there was something that Leliana was holding back, and while he didn’t want to interrogate her over it, he wasn’t pleased that she didn’t choose to confide in him. 

Leliana raised her hand, touching the base of her neck. Her blood moved through her veins, languidly and like syrup. It was a discomforting sensation, and she released a small sigh. “I just have a lot of thoughts in my head,” she replied, with a strained smile. Her eyes fell down, peering at her distorted reflection from on top the dark liquid inside the cup. “I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet. I was just trying to sort them all out. I’m sorry.” 

Oliver sat there for a moment, the only motion was the slow rose up and down. There was a look in his eyes, filled with quiet thoughts and his head bowed forward. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. 

A flare of confusion moved through her, and she stared at him with wide, bemused eyes. “For what?” She asked, with a nervous chuckle. She couldn’t imagine what he thought he had to be sorry for. 

Oliver ran his tongue across his dry lips, and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. “I’m sorry that there are things about my life I can’t explain to you.” 

“Wh—what do you mean?” She asked, feeling her heart sink into her stomach like a cold stone. 

“Don’t play dumb, Lels,” he told her, with a pointed expression. “You are a smart woman. Keenly observant, so I know that you know there is a lot of strangeness that is in my life that I don’t openly share.” 

So many words filled up her mouth, like the bitter taste of cheap wine. A shuddered rolled down her spine while she stared at him with wide eyes filled with agony. Her heart felt like it was being split in two, and she twisted in her seat so that she faced him head on. “Oliver,” she spoke, her voice cracking against her will. She didn’t want him to feel this way. She didn’t want him to feel such guilt, or shame for keeping her in the dark about his “night” life. “Please, don’t…you don’t have to—” Words suddenly failed her because the things she wanted to say—things she _needed_ to say to him, and so much she had to tell him. Her voice became strangled, an icy fear settled into her bone deep because she knew those words would change everything, and not for the better. “It’s okay. You wanted to protect me tonight, so you don’t have to explain it. Please, don’t beat yourself up over all of this.” 

“It’s not okay,” Oliver replied, with a small shake of his head. “And it is not just about what happened tonight. I disappear at the drop of a hat a lot of times, and it makes you worried about me. I don’t understand how you can be so accepting of that, and not ask me a million questions.” 

Leliana gnawed on her lower lip, and she released it with a sigh. “Do you want me to hold it against you? Do you want me to be angry or interrogate you after each and every time something strange happens? Do you feel that I should do that? If so, then I don’t think I can do that. I may have questions, a million or so, but I trust you, alright?” She told him, with a soulful look. “I trust you enough to know wherever you were, or what you were doing that you did it because you thought it was the best thing you could do in a tough situation.” 

“Why do you do that?” Oliver asked, frustration leaking into his voice. 

“Do what?” She said, her body rattling with a helpless sort of laugh. 

“Give me such leeway,” he elaborated, frowning. 

“Because my faith in you is unshakable,” Leliana said, completely earnest. A soft smile stretched out on her lips, and her green eyes looked at him with soft adoration. “That’s not something that is ever going to change.” 

His gaze warmed, touched by her words. “I don’t know what I’ve done to inspire such loyalty.” 

“Oh, come on,” she said, with a playful chuckle. “You always do this.” 

“Do what?” Oliver raised a brow. 

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Leliana said, with a fond exasperation written all over her features. “Not only are you incredible kind and giving with a heart of gold, you are also one of the wisest people I know. You can even be unequivocal profound when the mood suits you.” 

Oliver chuckled, running his hand through his beard. “And I think you clearly need sleep.” 

“And I think you need to let go of your gratuitous guilt,” she quipped, with a mischievous glint in her gaze. 

“Gratuitous guilt?” 

“It’s just bad manners.” 

“Well, we can’t have that.” 

“Nope,” she said, with an emphasis on the ‘p’. The anxiety in the air seemed to dissipate, but it wasn’t completely gone. Leliana didn’t think it would ever be completely gone with so many secrets between them, and her hand still rested on his arm, feeling the warmth that radiated off of him. “You ever look around you and wonder just how you ended up where you are at now?” 

“All the time,” Oliver replied, with a slight smile. “Why? Do you?” 

“Sometimes,” Leliana whispered. “I don’t think I ever quite imagined my life like this.” 

“What _did_ you imagine your life to be like?” He asked, curiously. 

“Hmmm.” Leliana thought about his question, watching how he pulled his arm away until their fingers brushed together and she entwined them as if it was the most natural as breathing. A spark of excitement simmered up inside her chest. It was unsettling the attraction she felt for Oliver, knowing that it was something that she shouldn’t act on. There was an allure, a temptation of acting on these feelings that she had for Oliver, but common sense told her how unwise that would be. “I imagined that I would be…a police officer—don’t laugh,” she scolded him, eyes narrowed. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, smothering a smile. “It’s just that I never thought of you as the police type.” 

“It was a half-hearted thing. I guess I just focused on it because it was kind of expected of me. I had a bit of a hero complex.” A humorless smile settled on her face, her green eyes vacate and dull. Her lips twisted as if she tasted something bitter and sour. 

“What happened to change your mind?” Oliver questioned. 

Leliana bit her bottom lip so hard that it was surprising that she didn’t draw blood. “Bad people did some very bad things. A lot of good people got caught in the crossfire, myself included,” she replied, vaguely. She couldn’t tell him about the war, or the magic. The second she told him the truth about her then this fragile and peaceful existence between them would shatter into a million pieces. “It made me realize that heroes aren’t made for battles, or wars. Heroes belong in story books and fairy tales. The kind of people that survived through hells aren’t the type to be heroes or saviors—only survivors with guilt as heavy as the weight of the world. 

“My former friends and family were able to get past it, but I just felt _stuck,_ like I was being pulled down into a pit of quicksand with no way out,” Leliana admitted, her voice very wistful and bittersweet. “I burned a lot of bridges to pull myself out of that pit. On a good day, I feel justified in doing so. On my bad days, I wonder if I gave too much up or gave the people I loved too little chances. But I can’t say that I’m not happy where I am at right now.” 

“Really?” Oliver asked, mildly surprised. 

“Really,” Leliana nodded, smiling brightly. “I might not have imagined this for myself, but I have a good life. I have a wonderful job, my family safe and supported. I have friends that don’t have impossible expectations of me, who also accepted me for who I am. You know that you were a big part in helping get here.” 

“You’re resourceful,” Oliver told her. “You would have figured something out.” 

“I’m not so sure, but I’m flattered you think so,” Leliana said, yawning so wide that her jaw cracked. She reached up to rub her tired eyes, feeling exhaustion fall over her too heavy. 

“You need to get some rest,” he commented. 

“I’ll be fine. I still have to—” 

“Lels, get some sleep,” Oliver ordered, his tone firm and uncompromising. “You look like you are about to fall over at any given moment. I promise whatever problems you seem determined to fix will wait until tomorrow. You need a moment to breathe, instead of charging headfirst into things while holding onto too much at the same time.” 

Leliana sighed, tempted to put up an argument. Instead, she felt the fight dissolve out of her before it could even begin given the tight and somber expression on his face. She wasn’t the only one that holding onto too much, but if her getting a good night’s sleep would ease whatever troubles that Oliver held onto then she would do it. “Well, when you’re bossy like that, how do I say no?” 

“Being bossy is one of my best traits.” 

“Whoever told you that is a liar.” 

“Get to bed,” Oliver chuckled. 

Leliana smiled, her fingers pulling free from his hand. A pang of regret surged through at the loss of his touch, and she swallowed it down hastily. “Good night, Oliver,” she whispered, rising out of the chair. She placed her cup in the sink before giving him one last look over her shoulder before she walked down the hallway towards her room. 

Oliver watched her go, and his eyes may have lingered on her hips more than what would be considered polite. He had noticed that Leliana was a beautiful woman. The pair of them had worked in close quarters too long for him to claim ignorance on how graceful and attractive she was. And it wasn’t just skin deep, Leliana had so much more depth than just another pretty face. She was not only headstrong and spirited, she held tight to a set of standards that she didn’t hold anyone but herself to. She was compassionate and kind, with a bleeding heart despite how tightly she guarded it. He jolted in his seat when his cellphone buzzed in his pocket, and he retrieved it was a light curse. Unlocking the screen, he found a message from Bruce. 

_The doctor has arrived. Will be having a check up to make sure everything is alright. Let you know the results when it’s all said and done. — B.W._

_Dr. Fate has arrived at the mansion and is looking for clues about the Warlock,_ Oliver thought, his mood turning grim. He had a knuckle white grip on the cellphone in the palm of his hand, and took a uneven but deep breath. He had a bad feeling about all of this from Wonder Woman ready to wage war to the mysterious Warlock that showed up quite literally on Batman’s doorstep. It felt like there was a red sky morning, blazing crimson deep in warning hanging over their heads. 

The Justice League needed answers, and fast. 

* * *

In the dark depths of the cavern networks underneath Wayne Manor was the center of Batman’s operations, also known as the “BatCave” thanks to Dick Grayson. Bruce sat in the chair with his hands formed in a steeple and his icy blue gaze flickered between the many computer screens. The bat cowl sat on the desk, discarded after a long night of interrogation. He had spent many hours along Jim Gordon in an attempt to get Dr. Blades to crack on where he got the funding for his men, if he was working for anyone, and how he had managed to infiltrate the mansion so easily. The infamous archaeologist had given him little to no answers, only leaving the Dark Knight with a nagging suspicion that there was much more to what was going on than it seemed. 

He definitely had been after powerful artifacts, if the Warlock’s defensiveness had been any measure to judge by. The dark magics that he had used to enslave spirits to learn of the knowledge had explained how he knew of them, at least in part. Bruce had gone over the color coded and alphabetic itinerary of all the items that had been listed for the charity gallery, but nothing struck him as a powerful magical object though Dr. Fate had told him that a number of seemingly ordinary objects throughout the centuries carried power. So he allowed Dr. Fate to inspect everything, and they came up with nothing. 

The items that Dr. Blades was after weren’t any item for auction, which left only one other possibility. 

They were being carried by a person. So here he sat going through all the surveillance footage that he had to see if he could spot any unusual activity, and made another disturbing discovery. He noted that the mercenaries had used many blind spots as if they had known where the cameras had been placed, and were attempting to avoid them as they entered the building the night before. Clara approached him, her cape swirling behind her as a light draft moved through the cave and she rest a hand on his shoulder. “Find anything?” She inquired, with a mild sigh. 

“These men knew the blue prints for the mansion, knew what blind spots to use and tried avoiding security measures to the best of their abilities. They efficiently took out the security guards, and did so quietly as to not cause alarm before Dr. Blades entrance,” Bruce stated, grim-faced. His hand reached out, and clicked a couple of buttons to pause the videos. He twisted around in the chair to turn to her, with a pinched expression on his face. “I believe that Dr. Blades might have been working with Diana. If not working together, then definitely a mutual exchange of information. His hired guns knew far too much about the measures of security and layout of the mansion to be a coincidence.” 

Clara hummed, low and underneath her breath. “Well, that is a good possibility. We’ve known for months that Diana had been gearing up towards something big. She had recruited a number of villains to her side, but no sign of what exactly she wants to plan,” the superhuman commented, an edge of worry in her tone. “But if Dr. Blades was working with Diana, then she must be after the one after the artifact. Do you think she knows who this Warlock is? It would be the second time they’ve foiled whatever scheme Diana has.” 

“No.” Bruce shook his head, feeling pressure behind his eyes and his head throbbed. Tension coiled into the back of his neck, spreading downward into his shoulders and spine with a persistent and stabbing pain. “Diana was as surprised as we were at the museum. This Warlock is an unknown on both sides.” 

Clara tilted her head to the side, her brows pinched together and she leaned forward ever so. “Is that Oliver’s guest room? The one you put a camera inside because you are so paranoid?” The Kryptonian asked, with a coal brow arched upward. 

“That last time Oliver stayed, he was attacked by a member of the League of Assassins who was trying to steal important documents out of his briefcase,” Bruce replied, flatly. There was the faintest trace of amusement that curled on the edges of his lips before it was smothered away it, turning his eyes on the monitor in the far corner where the video played. “The camera is merely a precaution in case another event like that occurs, and Oliver has no issues with it.” 

“He might have issues with you playing footage of his girlfriend on loop,” Clara commented, with a wry grin. “That’s awful lot of concentration you are putting into about thirty seconds of footage before she stows away in the bathroom until the police officer arrives. Why so suspicious?” 

Bruce frowned thoughtfully. “I trusted your instincts that something is off with the woman, opting to check all her time in the manor.” 

“And?” She asked. 

“And on the surface, the footage seems to match her story. When the mercenaries burst into the manor, Oliver locked her in the room and she locked herself in the bathroom,” Bruce commented, eyes narrowed as he watched the footage sped past the time until the police officer showed up. Leliana walked out of the bathroom, looking haggard which could be explained away by worry but something gnawed at his gut—a suspicion that he was missing something very vital in that tiny bit of footage. “The police officer shows up, and lets her out.” 

“Then why do you look so concerned?” Clara questioned, her mirth melted away. She rested a hand on the back of his shoulder and canting her body to face him, when his right arm reached out and wrapped around her waist. “Shouldn’t we be glad that her story checks out?” 

“I can’t explain it.” Bruce shook his head. “There is something wrong with this footage. It hasn’t been doctored or altered in any manner, though Overwatch is going over with a fine tooth comb. There is just something when I watch it that puts me on edge. Some kind of detail that I _know_ that I missing…” 

Clara trailed her hand up the side of his neck, before she ran her fingers through his hair in a gentle, soothing motion. “Take a break from it, and come back to it later to view it with clearer eyes,” she suggested, a smile when he relaxed and leaned into her touch much like a grumpy cat that was trying not to show how much he liked it. She didn’t dare tell him the comparison now, and would save it for rainy day when things weren’t so dire. Her stomach plummeted, when the thought that there might never be such a time crossed her mind. She didn’t have time to fall into those dark thoughts for Dr. Fate appeared in a swirl of gold. “Dr. Fate, did you find anything?” 

“There was not much I was able to uncover about your mysterious magic user,” Dr. Fate informed them, hands clasped in front of him as he stepped down the metal stairs and joined them over by the consoles. “The magic residue left behind is potent, but it is seems that the Warlock is adept at concealing their signature so they are not followed. I can tell you that the magic is…unique, unlike anything of this world that I have seen yet it resonates with the universe as if it has always belonged. It is a strange cadence to say the least.” 

“Is it dark magic?” Clara inquired, lightly. 

“There is a hint of dark magic in the residue, but not what I would call inherently evil. If the Warlock is an enemy or not, I cannot tell you,” Dr. Fate explained, his deep and rich voice holding an unearthly timber. His golden mask glimmered underneath the luminescent lighting, and there is always a sense of awe that came within being near his power. He was shimmering, bright like the sun while the Warlock had been cold and remote like the moon. “I would advise caution if you approach this magic user though, because they would make for a dangerous enemy if provoked.” 

“You don’t think the Warlock will attack without provocation?” Bruce asked. 

“I think that you two encounters have proven that,” Dr. Fate responded, with a slight incline of his head. “It is obviously that despite the power at the Warlock’s command, the magic user has only asserting control when it has come to these objects—the tome at the museum, and the nameless artifact that Dr. Blades was after. The Warlock only did the bare minimum of combat, and did not prolong an unnecessary fight. That suggests that the Warlock can be reasoned with.” 

Clara relaxed, visibly relieved by his words. Bruce on the other hand, kept his stony faced expression and didn’t find what Dr. Fate said all that much comforting. It was true that the Warlock showed visible restraint, both in the museum and at the manor. “I am not so confident that this Warlock has a better side that will prevail. While they have avoided a lengthy and prolonged physical confrontation, this magic user has already gone to some questionable lengths to not only safe guard themselves, but also to get what they wanted. The Warlock was able to render Superwoman and Wonder Woman powerless for a brief amount of time and power like that cannot be ignored.” 

“And yet they did nothing to cause Superwoman nor the fallen Amazon any harm when in their weakened state,” Dr. Fate argued, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Only because it did not align with their goals,” Bruce countered, the sharp edge to his voice. “If that changes, who know what this Warlock is capable of? I understand you want to protect all magic users, given they were the first targets of Diana’s cruelty, and a great number were wiped out to the point of genocide. However, this Warlock is an unknown. You can’t assume that because they did not cause any harm means that they will not in future.” 

“We all have the capability to do great harm. You, yourself are no different,” Dr. Fate stated, his tone very clipped. “However, it is our choices that define us. We make a choice to do harm, or not. Just because the Warlock may have the power to do harm, they have chosen not to. That has to be taken into account. You cannot let your paranoia outweigh your sense of reasoning. You need not make an enemy where there could be an ally, especially in these dark of war.” 

“One hurdle at a time,” Clara interjected, cutting off an argument before it could get out of hand. “We don’t even know where to begin the search for the Warlock, let alone think about offer an olive branch or otherwise. Right now, we need to focus on Dr. Blades and his possible connection to Diana. If he is working for Wonder Woman, then that means she is after this artifact, too.” 

“Hmm.” Dr. Fate shifted, his cape shimmered around him. “You said that the Warlock stole a tome from the museum? What was it about? Perhaps, that would be a start to discover just want Diana wants and why the Warlock is linked to this chaos.” 

Bruce heaved a sigh, turning to click a few buttons and brought up pictures of the book that had been taken shortly before it was stolen. “It was an old journal written by Nicolas Flamel in the Medieval Ages exhibit at the museum.” 

“Nicolas Flamel? Why does that sound familiar?” Clara frowned, with a curious tilt of her head. Her eyes darted off to the side, while her brows furrowed together in a knot and lips pursed as if she was lost deep in thought. Finally, a spark appeared in her blue gaze and she shifted on the balls of her feet towards Dr. Fate. “You can’t mean the alchemist, the one that tried to make a Philosopher’s Stone?” At her partner’s look, she gave a light shrug of her shoulder. “What? I paid attention in World History.” 

A quick fond smile graced Bruce’s features when he glanced over at his lover. “You are correct, of course,” the Dark Knight commented, bringing up a picture of the book opened. The words were written in 15th century French, with a flourished and skilled penmanship. “It is a book belonging to the famed Alchemist Nicolas Flamel, though from all accounts, his effort never bore any fruit beyond myths and legend. What Diana, or this Warlock, could want with the book about a false science is puzzling.” 

“Maybe there is a little more to the legends than people think,” Clara said. 

“There are always more to legends than people know,” Dr. Fate spoke, very seriously. “What we need to is to remove the fact from the fiction, and uncover the seed of truth amidst it all. I shall return to the tower and go through all my scrolls, try to see what I can find about the Philosopher Stone and Nicolas Flamel.” 

“While you are going about things the old fashioned way, we should have Overwatch scour the web for any potential information that she find there,” Clara suggested, her gaze darted over to Bruce. The Dark Knight nodded in agreement. 

“I’ll relay the orders once I return to WatchTower,” Dr. Fate offered, bowing at the waist before he disappeared in a shroud of gold. There were several seconds of silence, with only the distance roar of the waterfall to break the bleak silence, and Clara leaned down, burying her face into Bruce’s neck. “It seems our troubles grow on the daily,” she murmured, a tired tone in her voice. “I suppose that is a hazard given our profession, but do you ever wonder when the worries will ever end?” 

“Life comes with worries,” Bruce spoke, after a long moment. He nuzzled the crown of her head, while running his fingers through her silken locks and absorbing her warmth that reminded him of the sun. She was the sun in his life, the bright light that made all the darkness he held inside bearable throughout the years. “It’s unavoidable. You just have to choice which are worth the time spent agonizing over them, the ones worth fighting for and make sure you pick them wisely. What we do for our cities—for the world, I believe that kind of worry will be worth it in the end.” 

Clara sighed, heavily. “I really hope that one day life proves you right.” 

“I do, too.” 

* * *

_Star City_

_Potter Household_

The rain pelted and slid down the window panels. Brief flashes of lightning lit up the night sky, and the soft growl of rumble broke up the monotony of silence in the Potter household. The scent of coffee was not an unusual one to have permeated the air at this time of night given that Leliana spent all hours working, and she held the mug filled to the brim steaming hot caffeinated drink in-between her hands. It was in the quiet and protected space that her thoughts did wonder. Leliana thought of the world she had left behind, and the name she shed like a snake did away with its skin. But the reminders clung to her like tar clung to the lungs of a chronic smoker, choking her up and making it harder to breathe. Each breath she drew it felt like it was filled with poison, the fear in her heart a sickly miasma that would slowly decay her form the inside out. 

“Am I doing the right thing, Dobby?” She inquired, softly. 

Dobby stood off to the side cutting up vegetables for the homemade beef stew that was to be for dinner tomorrow night. Or today given that it was nearly three in the morning. He was much like herself when it came to sleep schedules. From insomnia born from nightmares or habits that were too far deeply engrained to weed out now, both stemming from rather traumatic and tumultuous lives they had lived. Sometimes, she still jolted awake fearfully thinking that she overslept and that Uncle Vernon would be furious that breakfast wasn’t on the table. Fears were like scars, they never truly went away. 

“I think you are doing what you think is best,” Dobby stated, with a kind smile on his weather beaten face. He had forgone his human disguise since there wasn’t company around. (His human guise was an older man with white hair, and with twinkling grey eyes that often wore button up faded plaid long sleeve shirt with a pair of simple slacks.) In the forge records, Donald Black was her grandfather. Dobby had been a presence in her life since that fateful second year at Hogwarts and his loyalty to her had been unquestionable. Quirky at times, and a little over protective, but still it felt only right to give him such a place in her make shift family such as that. 

“That’s a very nice way of saying no,” Leliana sent him a flat look of the rim of her cup. 

The house elf chuckled, shifting his feet on the stool that boosted him up to be on level with the counter and cook with easy. The beef roast in the skillet was being browned in a plethora of spices that made her mouth water, and stomach growl ever so lightly. “It’s not that I’m disagreeing with Miss—with you,” he corrected his speech, with a sheepish grin. One of the first things that Leliana had strived to do was help the elves learn the speech pattern of humans and human culture so that they could fit in. While one or two people’s mannerisms could be explained by quirkiness or idiosyncrasies, a whole group was bound to attract attention even a group that was posing as family. “It’s just while I know you are making one of the better choices available to you, I think you could do far better.” 

Leliana paused, her eyes flickered away. “You think I should tell Oliver.” 

“It is an option.” 

Green glanced over him, humorlessly. “You know how he feels about magic.” 

“You don’t have to tell him about the magic. You could give the barest facts, just enough to share your worries and burdens.” 

“He’s my boss, not my husband,” the witch replied, dryly. She rolled her shoulder to ease the tension built there, and drained the last bit of coffee when she heard the front door to the open up, and she felt the wards hum in welcome of the two newcomers. The familiarity of their souls instantly put Leliana at ease, and she craned her head to see Kara Danvers walk out of the hallway and into the kitchen. 

“Hey! I thought you were still in Gotham!” Kara said, a surprised smile flickering across her face. Waves of dark, golden blond hair fell down around her slender oval shaped face and her bright hazel eyes radiated warmth like summertime. A pair of black, thick framed glasses sat perched on her nose and a light sheen of lip-gloss on her mouth was the only makeup that she wore. She was very pretty in the girl-next-door kind of way, an image that Kara had developed over the years to throw off suspicion about her secret life as Supergirl. Only a second behind the bubbly blond, was her girlfriend, Lena Luthor. 

Lena was a porcelain skinned beauty with ebony hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her sharp angular jawline with her high cheekbones gave her a proud and aristocratic look, with hooded greenish grey eyes that gave her a sensual and intense stare. Every inch of her from head to toe, screamed business woman from her smart and stylish fashion to the way she held herself, tall and headstrong. She was the perfect foil for Kara, in a lot of ways and the two had a beautiful and balanced relationship that Leliana envied at sometimes. She wished her romantic life, or lack thereof, was something to write home about. 

At any rate, Leliana often found herself contemplating her closest friends. It had never been intentional to make friends. Honestly, anything beyond survival hadn’t been part of the equation really, until Oliver came along and changed _everything_ for her in so many ways. The roots that she had planted in Star City grew wild and untamed, settling her into the foundation of the city but also causing her to gravitate towards people that she now she called friends. Kara and Lena, like most good things in her life, had been unexpected. It had started with the metahuman charity called, . 

Lena wanted to make reparations with the metahuman community, given all the horrors her brother had committed against them from experimentation to genetic splicing and so much more. However, she felt that if she publically announced the foundation with Luthor Corporation as the head sponsor behind it, then it would only raise hackles and stir far much more trouble than was needed. That’s why she extended a proposal to Queen Consolidates to spearhead the foundation, and that’s how Leliana met Lena. The two worked together for a couple of months before Leliana met Kara, who was there do an interview for the companies for the Daily View, the paper where the part time superhero was employed. 

It was ironic that she was surrounded by heroes—actual heroes, given the life she once lived. The only reason that she knew openly about Kara’s status, and the two women knew about her magic, was an incident involving an assassination attempt on Lena’s life. It had happened while Leliana and Lena were looking over applicants for doctors, who would be working at a clinic specialized for treating metahuman patients since some hospitals had banned the poor people from seeking help. There was a huge legal battle that was heading towards the Supreme Court over it, but until then, a lot of people were suffering, so this foundation was one of the few things that could help. The assassin burst in through the skylight, which weapons drawn and it had been out of pure instinct that Leliana lashed out with her magic. 

A whole interrogation ensued, with Supergirl showing up after being tipped off about the attempt. It didn’t take a genius to see that Kara was Supergirl. Leliana didn’t understand how some people could be so blind, or how a simple pair of glasses could be considered a suitable disguise. She had even gone so far as to inspect said glasses for magic because how obtuse people were in not putting two and two together, and had found that there were indeed just a regular pair of glasses. After the incident, the three women ventured into a tentative friendship which turned out to be one of Leliana’s best decisions. Lena and Kara were the only two people in the world, besides the elves and Teddy that knew about her magic and that allowed her to be a little less filtered around them as opposed to others. 

“I am, technically,” Leliana replied, with a shrug of her shoulder. She nonchalantly picked up her scattered papers and notes from all that she had deciphered from Flamel’s journal, and tucked them away into her leather binder that had ruins stitched on the front to prevent any nosy individuals from taking a peek. She managed to twist her face up into some semblance of a smile. “Just here to check in on Teddy, and everyone.” 

“Aren’t you worried that you won’t be back before you are missed?” Lena inquired, slipping her beige suede coat off of her shoulders and draping it along the coat hanger in the hallway. 

“I have my ways of knowing if anyone starts to miss me,” Leliana replied, with a faint chuckle. She brushed the loose strands of her hair out of her face, feeling her eyelids droop from exhausted and she rubbed them before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” Lena said, arching a brow. 

“I wish it were something as productive as burning the midnight oil,” Leliana commented, with a light scoff. She turned to look up at Lena, who stood over her shoulder and heaved a defeated sigh that made her entire body sag underneath the weight of it. “Instead, it feels more like banging my head against a brick wall.” 

“Doing damage control on the charity event that went full blast?” Kara asked, giving her a wince of sympathy. 

“Ugh, I have even started on that. The stuff I am working on is…a personal project,” she answered, with a split second hesitance. Determined to change the subject to less stressful topics, she flashed a grateful smile at the pair of women. “I can’t thank both of you enough, you know? You two have been a big help when it has come to Teddy. He adores both of you so much, and I—I’m just glad that because he really needs people that he loves as family right now.” 

“You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Lena whispered, her gaze softening. 

Leliana felt a knot build up in the back of her throat, sudden and without warning. She closed her eyes against the burn of tears, and felt her chest ricochet with a sharp intake of air. “It’s never taken him this long to get better before,” she said, her voice cracking at the end. She reached up, pressing her palms against her eyes and inside her mind, she fumbled for her Occlumency shields to pressed down the emotions and find her composure. It was a harsh and brief battle, and when she felt Kara’s hand on her shoulder, she nearly broke. Somehow, miraculously, she managed to reign in all the tears and swallow them down. “I’m nearly at my wits end with it all.” 

“So is that why you decided to rob the Gotham museum then?” Lena stated, her face perfectly aloof and eyes grew murky to hide whatever she was thinking. 

Leliana had to admit that she startled at the blunt accusation, not matter how true the charge was. Her hands fell away from her face and she stared, mouth agape at the business woman. In the next instant, she had to fight the urge to groan or roll her eyes. She didn’t know why she should be surprised, since Lena was well-known for going straight for the jugular. 

Kara, sensing the tension, did her best to dispel it. The Kryptonian turned to the house elf, with a too big smile on her lips. “Hey, Dobby! How are you doing today? I got all the ingredients for that lemon tiramisu that you wanted to make,” she told him, in an overly cheerful tone. It was as if Kara thought if she was happy enough that it would erase the gloom that existed in the air, and for a moment, it did. 

“Oh, it has been a very good day, Miss Kara!” Dobby replied, jovially. “Dobby appreciates Miss Kara going out of her way to go the store! She will get the biggest piece of red velvet cake tonight in way of thanks!” 

Kara gasped, dramatically turning her gaze to her girlfriend. “Did you hear that? I get the biggest piece of red velvet! I love red velvet!” She hissed out in a whisper, a look of pure euphoria washed over her face. 

It only took one look from Kara to watch Lena’s frosty and composed exterior melt into something more human and real. The stern pinch of her brow smoothed out and her lips pulled into a smile, her green eyes shined with love and warmth directed all at the reporter/superhero. “I’m practically green with envy, darling,” Lena chuckled, good-naturedly. “Dobby’s deserts are to die for.” 

Kara got this love sick and dewy eyed look on her face at the petname. The pair of them were so sickly sweet that Leliana swore she walked away with a dozen cavities after each encounter with the love birds. 

“Dobby is so happy that everyone likes his cooking!” Dobby said, vibrating with joy. His eyes were so big and wide, he looked like he was about to burst into tears of happiness. “Dobby has such good friends!” 

“And we are lucky to have you as a friend, too, Dobby,” Kara said, kindly. 

“And you are an amazing chef. You should own that,” Lena told him, encouragingly. “Once I am done with the image modifiers so you can look and appear human for greater lengths of time, you should honestly look into setting up a restaurant. I would definitely be one of your loyal patrons.” 

“Seconded,” Kara chirped, helpfully. 

The house elf tugged his large ears down to cover up his blushing cheeks. “You flatter poor Dobby,” he accused, with a slight pout in his voice. He scuff the countertop with his small foot, in a bashful gesture but there was an unmistakable smile fixated on his face at the praise he received; praise that was completely and truly well earned. With a snap of his fingers, the elf magically made the cabinet doors open, and the groceries floated up out of the bags to be squared away. 

“So,” Lena commented, slowly, “about your excursion at the museum? You honestly can’t have expected us to not notice that it was you behind that mask. Your magic is very singular and unlike the powers used by Zatanna or Dr. Fate.” 

Leliana pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had my reasons.” 

“Everyone has reasons, Leliana,” Lena said, with a light cluck of her tongue. “That doesn’t mean they always justify the choices that we make. You have fought so hard to stay out of the spotlight, to keep the secret of your magic from becoming public knowledge…is your son so badly sick that you would risk exposure?” 

“I would risk everything to keep him alive,” Leliana snapped. 

“We don’t blame you for that and we aren’t…going to turn you in despite your less than legal choices right now,” Kara interjected, before Lena could say something. “What Lena meant is that you are risking a lot here. Breaking and entering, stealing things, not matter how intentioned could cost you your life and your freedom. And then Teddy will be without his mother. Is that what you want to happen?” 

“Of course not,” Leliana said, with a shake of her head. Her heart felt sick and heavy in her chest, the pounding of it too fast and it made it very hard to think, let alone speak. “I—I just saw an opportunity to get the book. The notes inside of it could help me create something that with have the powers to cure my son. He’ll never have to worry about his sickness again, and I know that maybe doesn’t completely justify or make stealing it right, but he is the most precious thing in this world to me. I can’t lose him. I would lose my mind.” 

“Alright.” Lena nodded, after a moment. “Then what happened at the charity event? Why did you show up there, too?” 

Leliana swallowed. “You remember when I confided in you that my soul is tied to a very dangerous source of power, beyond that of my normal magic? Well,” she continued, after the pair nodded, “the man, Dr. Blades, seems to have discovered something about that source of magic and was intent on finding it. Given what that power source is, it isn’t hard to guess what his reasons for looking for it might be.” 

“And those reasons could be?” Lena prompted, gently. 

“It has the capability to make a person immortal,” Leliana whispered out. The words felt like they like knives being dragged up and out of her mouth, the taste of bile and blood seemed to coat the back of her throat. She never wanted to tell anyone in depth about the items or the power that she had, but she couldn’t dance around with vague explanations. Maybe she was getting tired of dancing around in a field of lies. Regardless, the truth gave her little peace in this moment. “The power over death among other things.” 

Kara let out a long and low whistle. “No wonder you didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Indeed. Thousands of men have wasted their lives chasing the secret of immortality throughout the centuries,” Lena said, in a sardonic tone of voice. Her brows were furrowed together, and there was a trouble look in her eyes. “People attempting to build monuments and legacies to outlast eternity, and I can’t imagine the target that would be planted on your back if anyone found out just what power you hold.” 

Kara had a hesitant and strange look on her face, while her eyes swept over Leliana. “Are you…are you immortal?” Kara asked, her eyebrows climbing steadily into her hairline when she realized the implications of Leliana’s admission. “You said that this _thing_ you are tied to has the capability to make someone immortal? Has it made you immortal?” 

“I have no fucking clue,” she replied, with a caustic and bitter laugh. Death had been exceedingly vague on all the tiny details of just what being the Master of Death entailed, and the thought of immortality just gave her a new level of panic that she couldn’t deal with _ever_. “But I—I can’t think about that right now. My sole focus from here on out is getting Teddy happy and healthy. Any other threats or worries can fall to the background.” 

“Are you so sure that is wise?” Lena asked. 

“Probably not,” Leliana said, her shoulders drooped. “But I haven’t been really accused of being a well of wisdom before, so why start now?” 

Kara’s big round eyes blinked twice behind the thick lenses, and her fingers reached up to fiddle with her glasses for a few moments. There was a pensive knot that crinkled on her brow, and her gaze darted all around the room lost in thought. “I could help, a little bit. The Daily View is already going to send someone to Gotham to cover the events of the charity gala,” she stated, slowly. “I can go interview the police about Dr. Blades and see what I can uncover if you want me, too.” 

“No, it would put your at risk.” 

“More than usual?” Kara countered, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m a superhero and a journalist. My life isn’t exactly danger free.” 

“Dr. Blades was tampering with dark magic,” Leliana divulged, frowning deeply. “You might be invulnerable in the face of many things, but not magic. You could seriously end up hurt.” 

Lena folded her arms, delicately over her chest. “Then I’ll be there to chaperone to keep her out of trouble,” she commented, sending her girlfriend a playful glance out of the corner of her eye. “I have gotten quite good at it over the years, and also we can provide an alibi to you,” Lena’s eyes flickered back towards the ebony haired woman, sharp and serious, “should you need it in the future. I think you are being optimistic if you believe that you won’t need to use the Warlock again, especially given that it seems forces are gathering against you. If you aren’t going to accept help from your parents—” 

“That’s not an option,” Leliana shook her head, empathetically. She picked up her cup from off the table, and made her way over to the sink. She proceeded to clean out the cup with, and then dried it off with more care than was warranted. There had been a blip on the way here into this universe, a little stumble that caused them arrive far too early. “I’ve contemplating approaching them, but I fear the fallout of that. It is going to be complicated and messy, and given all that I have on my plate right now with Teddy—” She cut herself off, and a sigh shuddered through her from head to toe. 

“All the more reason for us to guard your back,” Kara said, quietly. “You don’t have to face everything alone. It is alright to accept help, you know that right?” 

“Kara is right,” Lena voiced her agreement, with a stern-faced expression. “I know how difficult it is to open up, and to trust others especially when you’ve been let down before, but it is a sad and lonely exist to fight your battles alone. We are your friends, and more importantly, we are your family. You can trust us.” 

Aster Potter hadn’t had a family growing up. The Dursleys were constant figures in her life, but there was no warmth or love in that house. There was Miss Figgs who babysat her when the Dursley went out of town. She had been nice enough, but not affectionate like a mother or aunt were supposed to be. There were no hugs or anything like that. The closest the woman got to show her warmth was the occasional piece of dry cake and showing her photos of her twenty seven cats. The real first time that Aster had a tangible and real sense of family was after Hogwarts. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Hagrid, the Weasley family and the list went on and on. The loss of them whether it was from death or bridges burned weighed heavily on her still. 

In the end, they had wanted her to be something she wasn’t. They wanted her to be this idol on a pedestal, this hero that was so perfect image of what a witch should be and had this path put in front of her that she was supposed to walk. When she couldn’t do that, they had turned on her. The cut of betrayal was imprinted on her heart, and a new fear was born. What if her birth family was the same way? What if they expected her to be something she wasn’t? What if they couldn’t or wouldn’t love the person who she was because she was so different than what they expected her to be? 

And Leliana was too cowardly to figure out that answer. It wasn’t a storm that she thought she could weather and make it out the other side. She had barely made it through the first time, and she felt a painful knot swell up in her throat at the potential of it happening again… 

The cup shattered underneath her grip. 

A curse fell off her lips as the broken shards fell into the sink. Dobby gave a snap of his fingers, vanishing the glass away easily. “Do you need—” Dobby started worriedly, but cut off when Leliana wordlessly shook her head. 

“No cuts,” Leliana looked down at her unblemished palms with a troubled frown on her brow. She drew in a harsh breath, clenching her eyes tightly shut. She swallowed down the inner turmoil, and she rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t need to look behind her at them to know what she would see. Lena would stand, her graceful posture slightly rigid and her lips thinned out into a severe yet thoughtful line. Kara would be wringing her hands together, the worry coming off of her practically palpable. Kara knew about her past, had seen the scars from the Vernon’s belt on her back on accident about a year ago and Leliana reluctantly confessed the abuse she suffered in her childhood. Dobby would be trying to not to fidget, his big eyes flickered from the pot of food that he dutiful stirred towards her and his lips would tremble with words that he wanted to say, but thought better of. 

It was all just _too_ much and she couldn’t breathe. 

“I’m going to check on Teddy,” Leliana announced, her voice strained and somnolent. She tugged anxiously on the hem of her shirt and awkwardly turned around to face them, a plastic smile readily upon her lips. “I’ll keep all your words in mind, and I appreciate your guidance.” 

“No enough to take it to heart apparently,” Lena said, dryly. Kara elbowed her in the ribs, but gently so it didn’t hurt. 

Dobby smiled, faintly. “Dobby is always here when you need him.” 

Her smile drew out into something a fraction more real, and she patted the house elf on his shoulder as she passed. She inclined her head to Kara and Lena, before she made her way out of the kitchen and down the hallway that extended further into the depths of the apartment. Her footsteps soundlessly against the wooden floor and her magic reached to check on all the elves. All safe and sound, safely tucked away in their beds and the tension eased out of her limbs ever so slightly. She walked up the stairs, and reached the door of Teddy’s bedroom. Carefully, she turned the door knob to not disturb his sleep and made her way into the room. 

He looked so tiny on the bed, curled up into a ball. An IV line hooked up to his arm that was monitored by Nurse Johnson who had been hired to by Oliver to help take care of Teddy since his health had declined so drastically along with the on call specialists; the nurse lived across the hall in another apartment, given how often she was needed. Leliana wasn’t content though to rely on normal medicine alone, given that the heart of Teddy’s problems were due to the Sickness, a magical disease. She had taken her time to figure out what potions would be safe to give him alongside of the medicines that the doctors prescribed, but all the efforts—mundane and magical—just seemed to be keeping him afloat. 

_Just a hair step away from death,_ Leliana choked up. She could feel the veil of death hovering over him constantly, like he was one heartbeat away from slipping away from the world of the living. Her hands were clenched tight at her side, the temptation to call upon the powers she wielded and force Death to stay away from her child was one she constantly battled against. It would be so easy to be selfish and to give him, to save her son and damn what consequences that came. But there _would_ be consequences. Such powers like the Master of Death did not come cheap and did not come free, and if she abused those powers by saving Teddy, it would have devastating consequences. She could feel that in her bones, and she shoved away the impulse with all the willpower she had inside of her. 

Teddy shivered, teeth chattering in his sleep because he had kicked off his blankets at some point. Leliana walked over, grasping the blanket to draw back up over him and tucked it around him. She ran her fingers through his hair comfortingly, and let her palm rest against his forehead for several seconds before she was satisfied that he wasn’t running a fever. She made her way around to the other side of the bed, and picked up his little wolf stuffed animal from where he had knocked it out of the bed in his sleep. Setting it gently bedside his pillow, she smiled down at her son. Her expression was strained with sadness and eyes swimming with tears. 

“Mama?” 

Leliana’s head jerked up, and she saw Teddy shifted on the bed. His eyes were barely open, and his dry lips parted before a cough rattled through his entire body. She immediately summoned a glass of water and sat on the edge of the bed, one arm gently wrapped around his back to support him while her other hand brought the cup to his mouth. Once he had taken a few sips, he slumped back against the mattress as if the simple act had drained all of his energy and Leliana had to fight to put a smile on her face. He needed her to be strong and happy, so he could be okay and she couldn’t breakdown in front of him. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you feeling?” 

“M’tired,” Teddy complained, voice cracking weakly. 

“I know,” Leliana said, stroking his hair gently. “And I know that it’s very scary right now, but you know, I am working so hard to find a way to make you feel better, okay? I just need a little more time, so I need you to be a strong boy, alright? Just for a little while longer. Do you think you can do that?” She asked, quietly. 

Teddy drew in a shaky breath, and nodded his head. “I can do it. I can be strong.” 

Leliana smiled so wide that it hurt. “That’s my brave boy.” 

Teddy laid there silent for a few moments. “Mama, I wanna get a cat.” 

“You do, huh?” Her eyes flashed with amusement. There had been talk of getting a pet, since Teddy was doing so good in school and then he had gotten sick, so all thoughts of animals had been put on hold. 

“I dreamed…” He paused for a brief heartbeat to gather up strength to keep talking. “I dreamed of fluffy grey cat, and his name was Lord Furface.” 

A watery chuckle escaped her. “Lord Furface?” 

Teddy’s lips twitched into a pained smile. “Yeah. He could talk though. I don’t think we’ll find a cat that can talk here,” the boy whispered out, his lips trembled into a slight pout. He seemed suddenly very disheartened that there were no talking cats in real life. 

“You know what? I’ll check the local shelters and see if I can’t find a cat fitting Lord Furface’s description,” Leliana promised, tucking him back into the blanket. She grabbed the stuffed wolf that Teddy won at the fair a little over a year ago, and he had taken to call it “Remus”. She passed it over to her son who hugged it tightly to his chest, and she smiled at him with the brightest smile that she could muster. 

“Really?” Teddy forced his eyes open, a look of excitement on his face despite his exhaustion. 

“Really, really,” Leliana said, ruffling his hair. “I’ll even let you come with me to pick out all the things we need to take care of him, if you start to feel up to it.” 

Teddy grinned. “O—okay.” 

Leliana smiled, tenderly before she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Please get some more sleep, m’kay? You need to rest up as much as possible, and don’t forget to drink your water. If you need anything, the others are just down the hallway and you just have to hit this button.” She pulled the little remote with a simple red button that had a cord that was attached to a machine near the bed. It was similar to the ones on hospital beds. “And if there any reason in the whole wide world that you need me, you can use your pendant,” she tapped the golden locket around his throat with a simple red gem in the center, “and I’ll drop anything and everything to be here in a heartbeat.” 

“I know, mom,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. He always got fluster with how much everyone fussed over him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the attention. “Love you, mama.” 

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” 

It wasn’t until Teddy was back into a deep sleep that Leliana left his side, with a heaviness weighing down her heart. There wasn’t anything in the world that she wouldn’t do for her child, and the lines between right and wrong started to blur, making Leliana wonder what lengths she would truly go to, to be able to give him the life of happiness and health he deserved. It felt like she was standing on the edge of knife, and whatever choices she made from here on out could damn her. 

If they hadn’t already. 

* * *

In the early morning hours, the house became very quiet and dark. The hearth crackled with a blazing fire and Kara entered the room, carrying two cups of steaming hot tea. She had a wide smile on her face, but it slipped away when she saw Lena standing in front of the large window with an inexpressive face, with her arms folded in front of her. Kara felt a sigh rattle through her, nudging the door behind her shut with her foot and then set the two cups down on top of the dresser before she walked across the length of the floor to her girlfriend. She reached out, placing one hand gently on Lena’s back while the other hand settled on her hip. “You’re worried,” Kara whispered, quietly. 

“You aren’t?” Lena asked, leaning in the touch. She craned her neck around to peer into Kara’s eyes, a frown upon her brow and her hands clenched restlessly on her elbows. 

“Well, obvious, but I’m not sure what exactly can I do about it.” 

Lena turned around to face Kara, her hands dropping to her side. “You could tell Bruce and Clara what is really going on.” 

Kara clenched her eyes closed, and pulled away. She ran her fingers through her hair, while she dropped down on the edge of the bed and she shook her head ever so slightly. She peeled her eyes opened, and looked at her girlfriend with an earnest yet sad look. “Lena, you know that we can’t just throw Leliana underneath the bus like that. That isn’t our truth to tell. Besides as someone who has had their life blown up because family secrets and lies, you should be a little more sympathetic to Leliana’s situation,” Kara told her. 

“I _do_ empathize with her. I do, but as you’ve pointed out,” Lena replied, looking unconvinced. “I’ve been on the bad end of secrets and lies. There is literally a war on our doorstep, and misunderstanding can come with a deadly price. In this instance, I think honesty would be the best policy. I thought that the girl scout in you would appreciate.” 

“I’ve never been a girl scout,” Kara said, with a snort. 

“Now that I find surprising,” Lena chuckled, a small smile appearing on her face. 

Kara gave a small breathless laughter. “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.” 

Lena walked over, taking a seat beside Kara on the edge of the mattress. The Kryptonian wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist, and pressed her face into the crook of Lena’s neck. She sighed deeply, soaking in her warmth and familiar scent. She always smelt like spring, like lilacs and vanilla that made Kara want to curl up close and to purr like a cat. It felt like home here and she smiled shyly, when Lena melted into the embrace and wrapped her arms around Kara to pull her closer. The two of them sit like that, basking in the moment and in each other. 

The superhero stroked her girlfriend’s hair that hung down around her shoulders. “I know that after all the damage your brother has done that you just want all the danger and mess to go away,” said Kara, gently. “But at the end of the day, we can’t make choices for Leliana. All we can do is be supportive friends and prepare for whatever fallout will come.” 

“I know that is what we should do,” Lena admitted, after a long silent moment. Her eyes were filled with exhaustion and an edge of sadness, while her lips dipped downward in a frown. “But don’t you find it tiring? Always waiting for the fallout.” 

Kara felt her heart clench tightly in her chest, and she pulled back so she could lift her hands to cup her girlfriend’s face. “I know how you feel. I know that the life we both lead can been trying at times, and it can be hard to find a reason to keep on going,” Kara said, softly. “But it’s moments like this that make it worth it.” 

“Moments like this?” Lena quirked up a brow. 

“Quiet moments like this with you,” Kara said, with a beatific smile. 

Lena smirked. “You are such a flirt.” 

Kara grinned, pressing a kiss to her lips. It was sweet and chaste, but filled with such love that it almost stole the Kryptonian’s breath away. She had everything she wanted right in front her, and it was Lena that gave her the strength to carry on in her darkest moments. She knew that whatever would come with this war with Wonder Woman and the many other threats on the horizon, that they would be just fine. She believed that with all of her heart. 

* * *

_The Next Day_

_Gotham City_

_Hotel Penthouse_

The beaming sunlight cut through the lazily drawn blinds, painting a horizontal pattern across the table where papers laid strewn about. Leliana sat on the floor crisscross, an elbow propped on the table top with a pen clasped in one hand and her cellphone in the other, with a look of consternation on her features. Her hair had been tossed up into a hasty and messy bun, and she was dressed in a simple pair of jean and baggy shirt. “Missus Cortez, I understand your frustration and you worries. What happened at the charity event has left everyone distraught, but—” a knock at the door interrupted her, and Leliana glanced up, her lips twisted in a frown. “But I assure that we are doing our very best to move forward with the charity. As you well know, the profits are going to places like Shriners Hospital and St. Jude’s Medical Center.” 

Leliana rose to her feet, hitting the button to switch over the conversation from speaker to regular audio. She pressed the cellphone to her ear, and made her way towards the door. “I am not asking for you to give us a sure fire answer right away, Ma’am. I am only asking that you set your fears aside long enough to attend a meeting schedule for the end of this month, and give the representatives of Wayne Enterprises and Queen Consolidates a chance to prove that we are trustworthy. I understand that is a lot to ask giving recent events, but I promise you that you won’t be sorry.” 

Leliana stood up on her tippy toes to peer through the peephole, and went stock still at the sight of none other than Clara Kent standing on her doorstep. Her pulse thumped in her throat, and for that split second she felt like she was having an out of body experience. A mixture of emotions swept through her with all the subtly of a tidal wave, and her stomach twisted into one big, hard knot. Her hand trembled in the air before she unlocked the door, almost hastily and pulled it open. She placed a hand over the end of the phone, and smiled at Clara. “Please come in,” she said, quietly. The journalist smiled in understanding before stepping in past her, and Leliana tried to gather her composure in the face of this unexpected visit. 

Clara and her weren’t particularly close. They were barely acquaintances in passing with only Oliver in common as far as the reporter was concerned, so it was puzzling to why she was here. There was a bout of cynicism and optimism warred inside of her brain, which made her feel like a hot mess underneath her skin. “Yes, Missus Cortez, I am still here. I will email you the information as soon as possible for your consideration. Thank you. Have a wonderful day. Good-bye,” she said, her voice never faltering in politeness even as she quickly wrapped up the conversation. She closed the door and shoved her cellphone into her jean pocket. “I, uh, I apologize for the mess. I wasn’t…expecting any company.” 

“Oh, don’t apologize,” Clara responded. She shrugged of her coat which she hung up on the coat hanger at the end of the hallway, and turned towards Leliana with a sheepish smile. “I am the one who came uninvited, after all. If I came at a bad time, I can leave and come back at another day?” 

“No, you’re fine. It just been hectic all morning, with making phone calls to all the people who were involved with the charity and some people are wanting to pull out the pieces they’ve put up for auction because they are afraid their pricey insurance won’t reimburse them if something is stolen…you get the general picture,” Leliana stated, with a weak chuckle. A fleeting smile crossed her features while she shifted on the balls of her feet, uneasily. “You didn’t really come here to hear me grouch about work though, now did you?” 

“No, but if you need someone to listen, I am all ears,” Clara laughed. 

The knot of tension loosened in her gut ever so slightly. “Perhaps, one day. But look at me, making such a poor hostess. Please have a seat. Is there anything I can offer you to drink? Tea? Orange juice?” She gave a light snort of amusement, before she added, “The hotel room also comes with a fully stocked bar if you aren’t choosing about when you have a drink. Lord knows, I am tempted.” 

Clara smiled. “Orange juice will be fine.” 

Leliana nodded, making her way to the kitchen while Clara took a seat in the living area. The penthouse had an open floor plan, so it didn’t cut off her view of the journalist. She was still trying to figure out just why the woman was here. _There is no way that she could_ know _, is there?_ Leliana thought, a flash of panic burnt up the back of her throat like bile. She pulled a glass out of the cabinet above the sink, before she moved towards the refrigerator. “I imagine that the last few days can’t have been easy with the press circling like vultures.” 

“It isn’t ever easy, but can be bearable,” Clara said, quietly. “And it is always amusing to see Alfred come up with new ways to tell them to piss off.” 

Leliana chuckled, underneath her breath. 

Clara set her purse off to the side, fiddling with the strap half-heartedly. “I know that this is probably a bit of shock, for me to be making such a personal call,” the journalist started, as Leliana brought her the glass of orange juice. She took it with a murmur of thanks. “But I felt that there were some things that we needed to talk about.” 

Quiet confusion marred Leliana’s features; she settled in the arm chair directly across from Clara and tapped her fingers on the end of the armrests. “Oh? And what is that you want to discuss?” She asked, her heart felt like it had been slammed into the back of her throat. It ached and throbbed with each beat, and it was challenging to keep the flow of her breaths even. Her eyes darted around the room, fighting the urge to settle on the reporter’s face. 

It was this compulsion, this strong need to look at Clara and find the family resemblance between them. She never acknowledged this connection, because there was so much fear there like shards of ice inside of her soul. There were many times that she wished to lay out all her cards on the table, to confess to Bruce and Clara that she was the child that they had thought they lost. That she hadn’t died, but had been stolen. But dark doubts swirled abound in her mind, she was afraid that if she tried to explain the whole dimensional portal and time travel mishap, that they wouldn’t believe her. 

That would…absolutely _crush_ her. 

When she was a child locked away in the cupboard underneath the stairs with only hunger pangs to keep her company, she thought up hazy images stitched together in her mind from glimpses of loving families that she had seen in public or from those old, black and white shows that Aunt Petunia would watch on the telly. A mother with her shape of eyes, or a father that had her smile; it was all dreams and poppy dust. It wasn’t until she entered Hogwarts and gotten her first pictures from Hagrid that the image of family solidified in her dreams. She now had Lily and James Potter to look up to, and she would think of all the ways that they would have helped her through her trials and battles. The advice and support that they would have given her, and she clung to any bread crumb of information that anyone was willing to give her about them. 

That vision was shattered when she learned of what Dumbledore had done. The deception and machinations that he pulled to gain a savior for the wizarding world had torn apart more than one family was a wound that hadn’t healed in her heart. Lily and James were not her biological family, and the world she had grown up in had not been the one she had been born in. It didn’t make their sacrifice for her or the love that the Potters had grown to feel for her any less, but it did make Leliana hate Dumbledore in a way that she never thought possible. He had preyed upon their desire for a child that he could set up the future of the “greater good”. He had sold them like lambs for the slaughter, and claimed he cared. And maybe that’s what makes it worse because Leliana truly believed he did care. 

He just didn’t care enough. 

Leliana was an adult now, in no need of a parental figure to raise her. It didn’t stop her heart from longing for her father and mother, and wonder if they saw her—truly saw her without the masks or lies that she put on for the sake of self-preservations, if they would be overjoyed to have her back or disappointed with the person she had become. Bruce and Clara would never get to raise her as they dreamed of, and Leliana feared that they could not settle their hearts to accept her as she was now. 

She recalled the way it felt, like a white hot knife sliding through her heart when Oliver introduced her to his friends a few years ago. She had broken down that night in the solitude of her own home, she had laughed bitterly and wept at several different intervals like a madwoman. It was thanks to Death that she even knew her parents name, but she hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to seek them out. She had put it off with excuses about needing to put down roots and secure a future here for the little adoptive family that she had brought with her. She hadn’t gone looking, and yet her parents ended up in her path anyways. 

Out of everyone in Star City, Leliana befriended a man who was close to her biological family. She cursed fate and time many days, feeling as if the universe was having one last laugh at her expense. _Maybe…maybe Clara coming here is a good sign? Maybe I should take the chance to come clean?_ Her teeth sank into her lower lip, not allowing that thought to breathe life right now because it was more than what she could handle. 

Clara sipped the orange juice, gingerly. “I have to admit that I am here because of your relationship with Oliver.” 

Leliana couldn’t help, but feel abruptly wary like a cornered animal; cautious enough to be polite, but waiting for the other shoe to drop. That didn’t feel like a completely truthful answer, despite the complete guileless in the other woman’s smile and that made the witch frown deeply. Her mind seemed to sputter like a bad engine, and when the implications sank in, she regarded Clara with a wide eyed stare. “My relationship with Oliver?” she repeated, her voice held a squeaky quality. 

“Yes,” Clara said, with a shrewd look. “How are you and Oliver?” 

“We are both good,” Leliana answered, ever so vague. She looked ready to jump out of her skin at the slightest provocation, and the comfortable atmosphere that had been in the hotel room before had now evaporated leaving a tension so thick that it could be cut with a wooden spoon. There was a mild sense of disappointment mingled with the apprehension that Clara wanted to speak on her relationship with Oliver, but Leliana supposed there could be worse conversations to be had. It didn’t make any easier to acknowledge that there were feelings and the longing for more that she had for Oliver Queen. 

“Let me rephrase the question. Do you see yourself having a more than professional relationship with Oliver in the near future?” Clara asked, with an eyebrow arched. The corner of her mouth twitched in mirth, and she folded her arms over her chest waiting with an expectant look on her face. 

A breath rattled through like she had just been gutted. Her eyes swept away from Clara, and her lips formed a thin, impassive line. “Oliver and I are friends that completely trust each other,” she replied, with a nervous quake in her voice. “I can’t tell you how he feels about me, but I—I care deeply for Oliver. His happiness and wellbeing are some of the most important things to me.” 

“That’s not a ‘no’.” 

“It’s not a yes, either.” A hint of fire flashed through those green eyes, her posture tensing just a fraction in defense. She shifted ever so slightly, like a shudder had just crawled across her skin and she was finding it difficult to keep up her composure. “Whatever relationship I have with Oliver is important to me. He is a good, kind and honest man. I never had anyone quite like him, and whether our relationship changes will be entire up to Oliver and I. But why now ask me about this?” 

Clara chuckled, scratching the nape of her neck. “To be perfectly honest, I suppose I feel the need to get to know you better since you are so important to Oliver. You’ve been a part of his life for over two years now, and I didn’t know if you know the profound effect you’ve had on him,” she said, with a very solemn and candid tone of voice. She used her hands when she talked, lifting them and gesturing with every other word. “He really lost himself in his grief and despair, for a really long time. It was like a candle being snuffed out and everything had gone black. And for years, we all were very worried for him. Worried if the day would come when he—” She cut off the sentence, the smile on her face trembled and her eyes were filled with sadness at recalling the time when Oliver was suicidal. “And then you came along, you gave him back his smile, his laughter and so much more.” 

Leliana felt her voice strangled and caught in her throat, unable to voice a reply. Her breath hitched and she shakily rose from her chair, her arms folding around her stomach. She took a few steps away towards the balcony doors, as if the physical distance from Clara would somehow make the words more bearable. “I don’t trust easily,” she said, her voice very quiet but she knew that Clara would hear it. “I have been through too much to trust blinding and go on in good faith. I guard myself zealously and sometimes, even from the people I love.” 

Clara sucked in a deep breath, startled by the subtle admission. 

“I grew up in a place that I wasn’t wanted. I hid a lot of scars and a lot of pain, throwing myself head first into a lot of dangerous situations and used that as a way to cope, as a way to feel strong like I was invincible so whatever hurt that I had inside of me would dim away. I tried to find light in my life in different people, to drown out the sadness and darkness,” Leliana continued, . . “I made a lot of mistakes, in who I trusted and burnt a lot of bridges along the way. I saw the sorrow in Oliver, because I saw it in myself. I know how much we have to rely on each other, and I know that he means a lot to me.” 

“Then why not tell him that?” Clara asked, rising up off the couch. She approached Leliana, her footsteps slow and hesitating. 

“Because I don’t how to trust myself,” Leliana replied, with a jaded smile. “I lost the ability to be able to judge people clearly because I let them get too close and I let emotions blind me from a lot bad stuff until it all came to a head. I have let others have the ability to turn my life upside down at the dime of a hat, and if I tell Oliver about how I feel then I am handing him my heart on a silver platter. I am giving him that ability to shatter me. I don’t think I can do that.” 

“Don’t you think that’s being unfair to Oliver, and to yourself?” Clara said, with a deep frown on her features. “That you’re not even going to allow yourself the chance, not even going to take the risk?” 

It was unfair. It was completely unfair. Her hand rubbed the spot above her heart to try to relieve the sharp pain, and there was a sudden shortness of breath. Panic clawed at her gut and she turned around, regarding the reporter with wide eyes. “I have taken too many risks lately,” Leliana said, quietly. She didn’t elaborate, but by Merlin she wanted to. 

“What do you mean?” Clara inquired, after a heartbeat. There was no judgment, or ill will in any bone of the Kryptonian woman’s body; her face an open and expressive canvas, with blue eyes that tried to empathize and understand Leliana in a way that few had ever tried. 

Her heart softened against her will, and the unloved child that still existed in the depths of her soul wanted nothing more than to sink into the arms of her mother. She swallowed, shifting on the balls of her feet ever so slight to put another step of distance between her and Clara. “My son is sick,” Leliana replied, her voice thick with layers of emotion. “He has to be my priority right now.” 

It was entirely true. Her child had to come first above all else. It was what any parent would do, and yet she could help to feel that sometimes she used Teddy as a shield—or at worse, an excuse. It created a sour taste in her mouth, and she felt her insides wilt and seethe. 

A stricken expression crossed Clara’s face. “Your…your son is sick?” 

It was said so soft and in plaintive tone that it took Leliana back for a moment, and then she felt cold all over. The world seemed to spin on its axis in an unnatural way and she felt very lightheaded while guilt plunged into her chest like a spear. When she had been born to Bruce and Clara, she had been very weak and sickly from being born two months too earlier and had to be hooked up to machine to help her underdeveloped lung to breathe. It must have been soul crushing to have to watch a child fight for every inch of her life. And as best as the two new parents tried to shield their child from harm, a villainous plot was hatched in the shadows. 

The Joker distracted Batman. Luthor distracted Superwoman. And Ra’s al Ghul swept into the hospital, stealing the child right out from everyone’s noses. It had been a bluff, a last chance to strong arm Bruce into taking over the League of Assassins. Unfortunately for Ra’s, he was not the only man who had lived past his prime that had plans and designs. In the midst of a chaotic rescue attempt, Dumbledore’s spell had yanked the infant across worlds leaving nothing but a pink baby blanket to be found. The only reason that she even knew of these events in great detail was because she used the Ring of Resurrection to speak to the former Leader of the Assassins. (Ra’s had been killed at a later date by his daughter, Nyssa. He opposed her union with Sara Lance, and the Heir to the Demon had not taken kindly to the attempts on her wife’s life.) 

It was obvious that the mention of Teddy’s illness had brought up a lot of old pain for Clara, and Leliana felt her guilt increase tenfold. Her hand ached to reach out to Clara, to offer her some kind of comfort. She resisted the impulse, feeling that it wasn’t her place and she blinked rapidly to keep the rising tears at bay. “I’m sorry,” Leliana whispered out, apologizing for much more than just the pain she had unintentionally caused. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.” 

There were so many wrongs that she committed, too many things to apologize for that she couldn’t keep track anymore. The foundation of her life seemed to creak and groan, battering by the gale of lies, secrets and emotions that she kept bottled up inside. It was going to all come crashing done, and yet she couldn’t utter a single truth. Fear strangled the truth, and she felt utterly helpless. 

“Ah, well—” Clara hesitated. She idly picked her purse from the couch, wringing the strap between her hands and her entire body was too tension, too still. “You don’t have to apologize for speaking about your child,” she spoke, a tremor in her speech. “And you shouldn’t apologize for worrying about him. That’s what mothers do.” 

“Y-yeah. They, uh, they do,” Leliana said, her voice wobbled. 

Clara was pale as a ghost, mouth pressed into a thin line. Mind numbing grief seemed to seep out of her every pore, and her gaze turned away from Leliana while she worked up for something to say. Several painful moments ticked by punctuated by the clock on the wall, and then Clara let out a soundless sigh. “You know, I think your son is going to be fine. I know that for a fact.” 

Leliana’s eyes jumped to her face. “How? How could you possibly know that for sure?” 

“Because there is a special connection between a mother and a child—a connection that transcend the emotion and physical, and you would feel it in your heart if something bad was going to happen to him,” Clara stated, reassuringly despite the sadness that rattled through her with every breath. It was like watching fracture form in a sheet of ice, waiting until it inevitably fell apart but Clara held herself so tightly together determined to not fall to pieces in front of Leliana. “When…when I lost my baby girl, it was like the bottom dropped out from underneath my feet. My heart stopped like it couldn’t beat, my thoughts were too muddled to think, I couldn’t even breathe or speak, and you…” She sucked in a deep breath, wiping discreetly at her eyes. “And you don’t have any of those feelings, right?” 

“I’m scared. I’m so scared that I feel like I am losing my mind. But no, I don’t feel any of that,” Leliana admitted, her voice very soft and shallow. There was still hope, still a kernel that she clung to so the worst possibilities had been kept at bay. 

“Good.” Clara gave a shallow and shaky nod. “That’s good. So you just have to know that your son is going to be okay. That he is going to pull through no matter what.” 

“Thank you. Thank you,” Leliana whispered. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought all that up. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You didn’t mean to.” 

Clara forgave her instantly, and instead of being a balm on the searing ache inside of Leliana, it just made her feel that much worse. She gave a small shake of her head, a quiver snaked down her spine and she stood there rooted to the spot. Too few words or too many words, she couldn’t even tell at this point. Her magic swirled underneath her skin, sharp with self-loathing that carved deep grooves into her soul that had blackened with shame. 

“I should go,” Clara announced, abruptly. A sharp and watery laugh trailed awkwardly after her words, and she cleared her throat while looking around the penthouse aimlessly. It seemed that her avoidance coping mechanism might have been inherited from the reporter, Leliana mused to herself. There was a lot of her in the woman that stood before her right now, a lot of the same pain and agony that came with loss and war. “I promised Alfred to help him with the clean-up of the mansion. It is still much in disarray, and I have really been gone longer than I should.” 

It was a weak excuse, they both knew it. Leliana let it slid though, not wanting to cause anymore distress than she already had. “I understand,” Leliana replied, lightly. “I should be getting back to work myself. I still have phone calls to make, and everything. Thank you…uh, for stopping by.” 

“My pleasure,” Clara said, with a fleeting smile. 

It was difficult to watch her mother walk away, when so many questions throbbed inside of her. There was so much she wanted—no, _needed_ to know about her family. It was like being on the outside of home, with her nose pressed against the glass and with no conceivable way to get inside from the frigid cold. “Your daughter,” Leliana whispered, causing Clara to draw to a halt in front of the door with her hand poised over the handle. “What was her name?” 

_What is_ my _name?_

For a second, she didn’t think Clara would answer. The other woman seemed to curl in on herself, as if to deflect a physical blow before her head lifted to peer over her shoulder at Leliana. There was such a profoundly sadness in those blue pools, filled to the brim with a heartache that could not be measured and then her lips parted. “Martha. Martha Elizabeth Wayne,” she croaked out, a glimmer of tears in her gaze. “That was her name.” 

Leliana dug her fingers into her palm of her hands, so harshly that she broke skin. “It’s…it’s a good name.” 

Clara smiled, brokenly. “It was.” 

And then she was out the door, leaving only a faint trace of her perfume behind. It was almost easy enough to believe that this had been a trick of her mind, a ghostly illusion conjured by her deep longing to know her biological family, but there was a dread that pounded through her blood that made her realize that it had been all too real. Leliana stood there, still like a statue and felt like she had just missed some kind of turning point. That she had made a wrong decision along the way and was so unbelievably lost. Her heart told her one thing and her mind told her another, so she stood there frozen in indecision unable to do anything but let tears stream down her cheeks. 

Her legs folded like wet sand, and she collapsed to the floor with her back pressed against the side of the couch. She pressed her face into her knees and allowed herself to break in this moment of solitude. 

Once again, fear had sent her running away from hope. 

* * *

Boney fingers covered in grim and dirt played with the bones that had been bathed in crows’ blood for a fortnight. The Enchantress was in ratty tatter clothing, a shell of the powerful being she used to be and it was the ancient script writ into her skin that bound her to her mortal coil. June Moone, the young freelance artist and armor had been the human whose body she shared, had been tortured and beaten and so much worse until her mind snapped. This fracture weakened the Enchantress and allowed the Fallen Princess to bind her into eternal servitude. In the depths of the ruins of the fortress of Themyscira, she was shackled in the dungeons and doomed to use the last vestiges of her magic to further the hero turned villain’s ambitions. 

“The Blade has failed, shattered before he served his purpose,” the Enchantress croaked, her throat raw from all the screaming. She was the woman of wonder’s favorite punching bag to vent her frustrations on. Her lips quivered into a snarl, viewing the beautiful statuesque woman who paced the length of the floor through the curtain of her greasy and matted hair. Diana of Themyscira was everything she once was—beautiful, powerful, able to bringing the world to its very knees. That life had been stripped from her hundred upon thousands of years ago, because no matter how far or fast a tyrant would rise… 

They would inevitably fall. 

“How did he fail?” Diana demanded, her voice curt and sharp. 

The Enchantress ducked her head, body trembling in fear. “The Master of Death caught wind of your plan, Mistress. The spirits of the dead whisper in her ears and told her of the thief that sought her mantle of power.” 

“And now I have another problem do deal with,” Diana spoke, with a put upon sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her blue eyes alit with frustration and her face twisted with displeasure. “This Master of Death…” 

“She is not an enemy that you wish to make lightly,” the Enchantress cautioned, her nails scraping across her protruding ribcage. She was emaciated and weak, her eyes were luminescent with madness and bitter rage, a trickle of blood dripping down her nose and then she twitched with a dreamy smile crossed cracked her lips. 

“If not an enemy to be made, then perhaps she is an ally to had,” Diana pondered, carefully. 

The smile was gone from the Enchantress face by the time that Wonder Woman turned to face her. “Send an emissary to deal with Dr. Blades. I hate to leave loose ends out in the open,” Diana ordered, with a cold smile. “And after that my dear Enchantress, I want you to find me exactly where the Master of Death is going to be. I think it is about time I had a chat with she who controls Death. We have much to discuss.” 

Diana left the dungeon, and the large wooden doors shut behind her with a noise like low, rumbling thunder. The Enchantress sat there, motionless before her neck rolled in an unnatural manner and raspy, uneven chuckles rattled through her body. She would have cackled, if it would have not given away. 

The Enchantress would die. Her fate had already been decided. 

But she would make sure that Diana went down with her, if it was the last thing she did. 

* * *

Clara did not immediately return to the mansion, like she had said she would. Instead, she spent a couple of hours with her head literally in the clouds. She soared and flew with the wind roaring past her and up there with the world so far down below, it seemed like no ills or hurts could reach her this high. The only problem with flying was that eventually, she would have to come back down to earth and all that she avoided would be there waiting for her on impact. She slipped into the manor through the balcony to her and Bruce’s room, before taking a shower. It was midway in the afternoon before she searched high and low for her fiancé, and when she couldn’t find a spec of him in the upper levels of the mansion, she knew that he was still working in the cave below. 

Clara stopped Alfred in the hallway, with a gentle touch on his elbow. “Alfred, has he been upstairs at all?” She inquired, lightly. 

Alfred always wore a suit and tie, looking immaculate at any given moment. His silver hair was swept back out of his face, and his silvery blue eyes sat behind round shaped spectacles. His kind yet weathered face was weary, and he let out a mute sigh. “No. He seems quite determined in his research into uncovering the identity of the Warlock,” the butler stated, draping the basket of cleaning supplies over his arm. “If I didn’t bring him down food, he would likely starve. That is if he stopped long enough to eat the food, and not let it go to waste as he is so prone to do.” 

“I’ll go down to speak to him,” Clara said, with a light smile. 

“I hope you are able to speak some sense into him,” Alfred told her, with a small laugh. “Good luck.” 

Clara chuckled, making her way to the grand piano room. It was kept in pristine condition, even though it was one of the most secure and unused rooms in the house for the simple reason that it had direct access to the batcave. Her fingers tapped on the keys that had become second nature to her, and the bookcase creaked open with a small groan. She slid into the secret tunnel, pulling the bookcase shut behind her and descended down the metal staircase. She made no attempt to disguise her footsteps, her heart not into trying to tease or trick Bruce right now. The cavern opened up, and she made her way across the bridge to the main hub of activity. 

Bruce stood there, leaning over his workspace with hands braced flat on his desk while he stared down at pictures. He glanced up at her approach, his gaze far off and grim. He blinked his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, and his chest contracted on a deep breath. His muscles were coiled, drawing tight like a bow string and there was antsy restlessness that she had only seen creep through his composure when he was really taken aback. 

Clara drew to an abrupt halt, her heart sinking in her chest. “What’s wrong?” Clara asked, worriedly. 

The muscles along his jaw twitched. “I know the identity of the Warlock.” 

“You do? Who is he?” 

“She,” he corrected, succinctly. 

Clara blinked. “She?” 

“Leliana Evans-Black. She _is_ the Warlock.” 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have all enjoyed ACT II!  
> Next Chapter: How does Bruce know the truth about the Warlock? As Leliana and Oliver’s relationship starts to deepen, the truth threatens to undermine everything and evil strikes in the midst of it all. (None stop twists and turns and action in the final installment, coming soon.) It’s all going to worse before it gets better, fair warning. ;)  
> Author’s Note:  
> 1.) I have to admit that I struggled with a writing Aster/Leliana in this particular story, initially. I was really worried that some of her choices, or justifications would turn readers off given how world-weary she is compared to Canon! Harry. Harry Potter as a character in the entire series did have his flaws, but his selfless was a core feature that impacted so much of what he did. In “A New Beginning”, we see a very jaded version of that or that’s what I was trying to create. That’s something that still plays a heavy part in her life, with regrets and with the relationship of the people around her. She wants to keep people (Oliver, Lena, Kara) close, but yet at the same time have them at arms’ length. Like one foot in the door and one foot out which is unhealthy and frankly selfish of her. There are a wealth of reason why Aster is trying to keep herself from behind hurt, but it doesn’t exactly make the choices right. Also the lengths she is willing to go for Teddy, at the end of the day are extreme. She isn’t only risk the exposure of herself by being the Warlock, but the people closest to her to some heavy scrutiny or worse. It opens up a moral dilemma that she struggles with, trying to figure out how far is just far enough and if she is going to push past those boundaries for the sake of her child. Just how many lines will she cross to keep him safe, because that’s her duty to keep happy and safe because she is his mother in everything but blood. It took a lot to figure out how to explain Aster’s kind of mindset to show that while she is making some questionable choices, it stems from good intentions and not somewhere evil.  
> 2.) “Icarus” by Bastille, is really Aster’s theme for this whole story. I honestly forgot I even had this song, but was going through some of my old songs and found it. It just felt perfect, and really captured the feel of Aster/ “Leliana” for me. It is a really good so please go check it out if you have the time. :D


	3. ACT III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. My green laptop died, and I did have a backup so most of my stuff was saved except my most recent works. It took me over a month to save up for a new laptop, and it has taken me even longer to get back into the swing of writing. I actually almost had this chapter done, but it didn't save! So I had to rewrite it for the THIRD time. Anyways I hope that you all enjoy it.   
> I want to thank everyone who took the time to leave kudos or comment, or bookmarked this story. You all fabulous and I can't thank you enough.
> 
> Chapter Songs:  
> “Black Clouds” by Hidden Citizen  
> “Let It Rain” by Cloaks

_ACT III_

_IN THE WAKE OF SILENCE_

_“Lying is done with words, and also with silence.”_

_—Adrienne Rich_

__

* * *

A stunned silence fell over the cavern, broken softly by the beeps and clicks from the computers. Clara was rendered speechless by her fiancé’s declaration, and her heart dropped to the bottom of her feet. Her mouth was an agape, her eyes fluttered rapidly while his words played on repeat in her mind. “What—how? What do you mean Leliana is the Warlock?” She stumbled over her words. A sick feeling bubbled up in her stomach. It was a rolling, acidic sensation that left her cold and clammy.

Bruce curled his hands into fists and pushed back away from the console. His eyes were dark with fury while he stared unblinkingly at the footage that played on loop, and his nostrils flared on a sharp exhale. “Dr. Fate surveyed the mansion for any residual magic. His focus was on the main hall where Dr. Blades attempted to take hostages in search for the artifact, but he also found magic in one other room.” 

Clara sighed tunneling her fingers through her hair. “The room that Leliana locked herself in,” she guessed, her eyes pinched closed. 

He gave a nod. He clicked a couple of buttons on the keyboard and brought up the security feed to the main monitor. “As you know, I sent the footage to Felicity to overlook. My attention was split between this and whatever Diana was planning, and I knew it my gut that I was missing something,” Bruce spoke, very quietly. He pulled up a live feed in the corner of the screen, and Felicity Smoak appeared with her signature black framed glass and blond hair pulled up into a ponytail. 

“Overwatch,” Bruce greeted. 

“Batman, Superwoman.” The smile on the blonde’s face was small and brief, and the unmistakable line of tension ran around the corners of her eyes. “I wish I was talking to you to under better circumstances, but it seems we are chop out of good news nowadays.” 

“What has happened?” Clara asked, worriedly. “Aside from Gotham, that is.” 

“The Antarctica sanctuary was compromised and went dark about three hours ago. We sent Booster Gold and his team to do a recon mission, but we haven’t received word back yet. Hal Jordan was apprehended in Munich, Germany by J’onn and Hawkgirl,” Felicity informed them, wearily. She reached up with her hand and rubbed her forehead, while her eyes glanced off to the side. “But not before he managed to kill John Constantine and Manitou Dawn. The sanctum the two were guarding was ransacked, and a lot of the magic users in training were killed by a toxin thanks to Scarecrow. Unfortunately, Scarecrow escaped through the sewers below the city. We are in the process of relocating any survivors.” 

“Diana certainly has a grudge against mages and mystics,” Clara said, very troubled by the news. 

Bruce swiped his hand down his jaw. “It connects to the artifact that Dr. Blades was after. I suspect that she is killing of those that can either hinder or help her find it,” he stated, his brow knitted together. His spine was ramrod straight and his shoulders were drawn tight, and Clara reached out to place a hand on his shoulder blade. She wished she could will some of her strength into him, to help ease all the worries he carried with little to no complaint. “Has anyone else failed to report in?” 

It had become mandatory for the members of the Justice League to report into the Watchtower and to Overwatch after Wonder Woman started this war against humanity, since many of her targets were high profile villains or superheroes. The League had lost many good heroes, and even had to relocate some villains with new identities, such as Harley Quinn who had been pregnant and Captain Cold who had reformed years ago. The world of heroes and villains had been irrevocably shaken by what the Amazonian had done. 

“Cyborg was experiencing technical difficulty after the Hurricane Darcy hit the east coast, but he checked in just a few minutes ago. Otherwise, everything is moving smoothly on this end.” Felicity tapped her red pen against her desk. The bottom of the pen had been chewed on, and she fidgeted in her computer chair almost anxiously. “Okay. The video you sent me? On the surface it seems to support Leliana’s story, but there are a few things that seem suspect.” 

A click of the button and the video played like a movie on the silver screen, where Oliver threw open the door and shoved Leliana inside. Outrage and disbelief colored Leliana’s expression, her body lunged towards the door, but the sturdy oak doors had been sealed shut. Her fist slammed against the door and she shouted, _“You are such a bloody git! If you do something reckless, I swear by God’s green earth, Oliver I will make sure you live in paperwork hell for the foreseeable future!”_

Clara watched with a knot in her throat. She watched Leliana stand there for a heartbeat, seemingly lost in thought. Her eyes glanced across the room, glanced passed the camera slowly and there was something strange in the way light reflected against her—a bright white glow that was natural, there and gone in a split second when she turned her back. The faint crack of gunfire low on the audio caused Leliana to jolt as if she had been burnt, and she then made her way towards the bathroom. The door shut behind her and the video sped up to pass the empty minutes until a police officer entered the bedroom, and Leliana emerged from her hiding spot. 

The video paused with Leliana in mid motion with her small purse clasped tightly on her hand. A split second later a tabloid photo of Leliana and Oliver appeared on the left side of the screen from earlier that night. It was a charming picture of the pair, with Leliana smiling shyly and looking up through her lashes at Oliver. Oliver had a gentle hand placed on her lower back, a half smile tugged at his lips and his eyes were bright. Clara eyes flickered across both pictures and side by side, she immediately picked out the tiny discrepancy. “Her purse…” 

“She walked in the room with a silver clutch,” Felicity said, with a nod. “And walked out with a red one.” 

“At first, we suspected cooperate sabotage since it wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried to plant a bug or something of the sort. A purse is easy to sneak past security, and with the chaos, she could have slipped up and left the wrong one. I searched the room, but came up empty handed,” Bruce explained, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“And then Dr. Fate dropped the bombshell,” Felicity said, awkwardly. “I went over the video further with a fine-tooth comb. Unlike the movies or shows, you can’t enlarge an image and then make it clearer. So whatever funkiness is up with her eyes isn’t something I can give you any answers to. I was able to enhance the audio and found two anomalies that I think you will find interesting. The first is time stamped at two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, just after Leliana entered the bathroom to ‘hide’.” Felicity played the audio, and Clara heard the familiar crack—the same sharp noise that the Warlock emitted upon vanishing into thin air. “And it happens again at twenty-three minutes and eight seconds.” 

This time Clara flinched back and swallowed thickly at the sound. 

“It matches the same frequency and wave length pattern as the noise when the Warlock disappeared from the museum and the mansion,” Felicity finished, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “It may not be the most concrete evidence, but it is definitely enough to confront her with.” 

“Thank you, Felicity,” Clara said, her voice barely audible. 

“Uh, no problem,” Felicity babbled. “I have nothing aside from babysitting duties as of late since Jason would have a fit if I stepped one foot in the field right now. Oh, by the way, Barry is finally on the mend. Whatever toxin that Grodd injected into his blood stream to stop his healing factor has started to wear off.” 

“As soon as Barry is in tip top shape, recall Robin from Central City.” 

“Understood,” Felicity said. “Overwatch out.” 

The video call ended with a soft click that was deafening to her ears, and Clara had to turn away from the security footage that played on repeat in order to hide the emotions on her face. It was like mind and heart were pulling her in two different directions, but Clara had always listened to her heart over her head. Bruce—he had always been the cynic. The realist whom trusted the facts over emotions and science over superstition even when dealing with the mystical. And she could see the gears working in his brain, on whether to label Leliana as a threat. It was just that Clara did not believe that things were all that simple. 

“Clara, what is it?” Bruce asked, picking up on her shifting mood. 

“I went and spoke to Leliana, and it’s just—” Clara halted in speech, kneading her fingers against the back of her neck. A piercing pain had settled at the base of her skull, and each time it throbbed it sent her thoughts scattering. It was already difficult to line them all up and make sense of them without a growing headache to make matters worse. She kept her eyes trained on the floor, and she swallowed down the knot of emotions in the back of her throat. “There is shadow—this deep seeded sadness and this _guilt_ that is gnawing away at her. I—I don’t know why she has created this Warlock persona, but it isn’t something evil or malicious. We don’t have to jump to the worst possible conclusion.” 

His gaze sliced into her when he turned to face her. “Clara, we can’t ignore this,” he told her, with a knot furrowed along his brow. “Oliver deserves to know the truth, and we can’t ignore a possible threat to our inner circle. The timing is suspicious, and I don’t believe in coincidence.” 

“I’m not saying we ignore it,” she denied, her voice laced with frustration. She shook her head side to side, her hair whipping around the frame of her face. “But we don’t have to charge in without all the facts. There’s more to this. I know it.” 

“Sweetheart, your gut instinct was right,” Bruce stated, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Leliana was hiding something.” 

“Maybe I wish that it wasn’t right.” Clara loosely folded her arms over her stomach, feeling her stomach twist unpleasantly. It was difficult to put her thoughts and feelings into words when nothing she could come up with seemed good enough to describe the torrent inside of her. “There is this sense of familiarity when I see Leliana, a tug on my memory that tells me that I should know her face and I should trust her.” Her arms tightened around her stomach, trying to contain the gnawing empty feeling that seemed to spread through her entire body. Her eyes flickered to him, almost desperate for validation. “I know that you feel it, too.” 

A muscled ticked along his heavy jaw, and his lips formed a hard line. “I can understand the impulse, yes.” 

Clara felt the knot in the pit of her stomach loosen ever so slightly. 

“When she is with Oliver, I see a light in her. A brightness,” Bruce continued, his voice low and quiet. He glowered up at the monitors and watched the video play one last time. He bit off a harsh sigh, and a few strokes on the keyboard the screen went black. “But there are shadows, too. Dangerous shadows if provoked.” 

“We don’t have to provoke her.” 

“I know you want to believe that she is good—that because she cares about Oliver that she has a better side that will prevail,” Bruce told her, his voice thick with emotion. There were ghosts of the past were reflected in his eyes. “A lot of people have the capacity to care and those same people have the capacity to hurt those they care about very much. We’ve all had someone who cared for us that wasn’t necessarily good for us.” 

Clara knew he recalled Selena Kyle. The woman loved Bruce in her own way, but her selfish desires always overshadowed it. She could understand where he was coming from because of her own rocky history with Lex Luthor. “I don’t think that’s the kind of relationship that Oliver and Leliana have.” 

“It will be with secrets like this.” 

Clara chewed on her lower lip, and her eyes swept away. “Just…just me a chance to speak to her,” Clara begged, after a moment of silence. “Please, Bruce, I really think that I can get through to her.” 

“Why are you so adamant about this?” Bruce finally asked. 

“Because she reminds me of you.” The epiphany hit her out of nowhere and her eyes met his, a shaky smile on her mouth. “When I first met you, on the outside you wore this charming mask but underneath there was this part of you that you kept distant and remote. You built your walls so high to keep your heart safe and hold all your shadows and pain inside. A person who has a whole world of good in them that they can’t see anymore.” 

“You’re letting sentimentality cloud your judgement,” he accused, but his voice lacked any real heat. 

“I—I just know what my heart is telling me,” Clara responded, quietly. 

“Enough to risk Oliver’s welfare if you are wrong?” Bruce asked. 

Clara hesitated, and then released a hearty sigh. There had been too many funerals, too many friends that she had seen buried ever since the bloody war started. She wanted to stay optimistic, she wanted to believe the best in people, but she couldn’t deny the wariness that now existed in her soul. “I hope you are right about this,” she whispered out. “I really hope you are right.” 

* * *

The Gotham Police Department was a place that never slept. Police officers milled in out of the doors, with or without criminals in handcuffs. It wasn’t often that anyone infamous came through the doors anymore, just the normal petty criminals that every city had in one form or another. Most of the notorious criminals, like the Joker and Two-Face, got instantly carted off to Arkham Asylum. Since Dr. Blades passed the psychiatric evaluation, he was sitting in a jail in the lower levels of the department until his arrangement that was schedule for tomorrow morning. Kara turned away from the counter with a thoroughly frustrated expression on her face, and her heels clapped against the marble floor loudly as she marched over to where her girlfriend sat patiently. 

“Giving you trouble, are they?” Lena inquired, a knowing gleam in her eyes. 

Kara cheeks puffed out on a heavy sigh and she collapsed on the bench beside Lena. “Always,” she grumbled, pushing her glasses back up her nose. There was serious problem with corruption in Gotham. Batman had done his best to work with Jim Gordon to weed out this corruption, but the roots ran so deep—probably since it was founded over a century ago. It was an uphill battle that was far from over, and the Police Department was one of the places where corruption had nested heavily. A lot of corrupt police had been exposed by journalists and the media, so even with her media pass and approval from Commissioner Gordon, Kara always found her facing some kind of resistance with the police here. 

It didn’t help the pack mentality that such establishments. Kara glanced over and then still, her eyes fixated on the familiar book clasped in Lena’s hands. “Is that—why do you have that book? The one that Leliana—” her voice faltered, eyes darted all around then before she continued in a much more subdued tone of voice. “The one that she stole from the museum? Why do you have it here? Why did you take it?” 

Lena didn’t so much as bat an eye, only released a breath hissed through her teeth. She closed the book carefully and then placed it back into her leather case and turned towards Kara with one brow arched upward. “I figured since Leliana was not getting anywhere in breaking Flamel’s code so that I would try my hand at it,” she said, with a reasonable tone of voice. 

“She has only had it for a few days!” Kara retorted, incredulously. 

The rigid line of her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I know that this seems like a big invasion of privacy, and maybe I am crossing a line here,” Lena responded, in her defense. She jutted out her chin almost defiantly and her green eyes narrowed. “There is so much going on, so much chaos and it doesn’t matter what the truth or lies are—they are both ways that someone is going to end up hurt. And Leliana has put herself on a path to be devastated. She is the kind of person that gives herself to those that she loved, who builds her whole world around protecting them and when her secret comes out—” 

“We’ll make everyone understand—” 

Lena gave a sharp, sad laugh. “There are many things that you can do in this world, Kara. Make people understand is not one of them,” she replied, quietly. Her hand on her briefcase shifted restlessly, and her chest expanded on a deep breath. “The truth will not stay hidden forever, and when it does come out then it will have consequences. Oliver will be angry and hurt because the person he trusts most has kept this from him, and his biased against magic is going to further cloud his judgment. And Leliana loves him. She might not admit to anyone, or herself, but she loves him. And when he pushes her away, he is going to validate every fear she has ever had when it has come to telling him the truth.” 

Kara wished she could disagree, but living a life full of half-truth and secrets, she had seen the truth exploded lives apart in spectacular fashion. “And taking the book? How does it help solve that?” 

Lena’s lips folded in on themselves, and she closed her eyes for a single heartbeat. “It doesn’t solve that, but it might help Teddy. And you know that Leliana would give up the entire world for that kid,” she told her, with a deep frown. “She can’t lose both Oliver and Teddy. I know that she has Dobby, Winky and the others, but that won’t be enough to hold back the grief that will overwhelm her. I’ve seen what loss has done to people, and how it has turned monsters out of the best of us. I don’t want Leliana to become like that.” 

“Leliana is stronger than that.” 

“Even strong people have their limits, Kara,” Lena whispered, her eyes connected with her girlfriend’s. There were a well of sadness and pain written in her gaze that Kara wished she could make go away. She knew that Lena was thinking back to her family, and most of all her dysfunctional relationship she had with her brother. “And Leliana is reaching the breaking point of hers.” 

Before Kara could even think up a counter argument, a series of shouts erupted from somewhere down the hallway and was swiftly by the thundering of feet. Kara and Lena rose up off the bench alarm, and Kara secured a hand around Lena’s wrist just in case, she needed to get them out of there quickly. Her other hand reached up to pull her glasses off her face. The lead inside of the specialized frame dulled her enhanced senses to make the everyday life bearable for, especially when she first arrived her on Earth. 

The effect was immediate, and she tilted her head to listen. She could hear a police officer call for a paramedic, and another person say that it was useless. Her brows knotted together, and she was ready to rush out and come back as Supergirl, when she got the answer to what was going on. She flinched in back in surprise, her lips parted with a barely audible gasp. 

“What is it? What is wrong?” Lena asked. 

“It’s Dr. Blades…” Kara sputtered, her wide eyes swept to Lena. “He’s _dead_.” 

* * *

The sleek, emerald green Pagani Huayra drove across the blacktop like a dream, speeding across the countryside like an arrow. Oliver flexed his fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, and kept his eyes fixated firmly on the road. He had agreed to meet Bruce about a half an hour out of town, and there was a feeling that set on his chest like a stack of bricks. The conversation had been brief, but he had missed the underscore of urgency. He pulled down a dirt road where his GPS indicated, and came to a small parking lot. It was a National Park trail but was deserted. There didn’t seem to be any human traffic beyond himself, and Bruce and Clara who were already here. 

He pulled up beside their vehicle and turned off his ignition and got out of the car. “Weird meeting spot,” Oliver commented, walking around the front of the vehicle. He eyed the clouds building up in the distance. It looked like there might be storms later, and nasty ones by the way the clouds towards upward. “If I were a more paranoid and less trusting man, I would be concerned.” 

Clara tapped her fingers along her folded arms. “Aztek has a hidden camp set up in the National Park. There is Old Native American spiritual site that connects with an Aztec ruins down in New Mexico through a ley line. He can transverse between the two places through a portal, and he has helped us sneak people to safety. Also to pass along information where Diana can’t spy,” Clara explained, with a fleeting smile. Her lips trembled and the smile dropped away, her hand reached up to fiddle nervously with her glasses. Her gaze flickered to Bruce, who stood there with a severe expression carved into his face. “But that is not why we are here. We wanted to talk to you somewhere a bid secluded. The manor being compromised with the attack and now the reporters lurking at the gates, it wasn’t the best place to set up a meeting right now.” 

“Reporters are such vultures. No offense,” Oliver added, with a half-smile in Clara’s direction. 

Clara gave an unladylike snort. 

“We have to talk, Oliver,” Bruce interjected, gravely. 

Oliver arched a brow at him. “Yeah, I figured. What is going on? Has Diana made another move? Any of the outposts attacked or compromised?” He asked, shoving his hands into his suit pockets. His eyes flickered between the couple, and there was something in their posture—a certain kind of hesitance that made him rake his tongue against his teeth in frustration. There were hedging around some sort of topic, and that wasn’t Bruce’s style unless he was truly worried. 

“There…have been a few hiccups, but that’s not why we called you here,” Clara responded, with a shake of her head. “It is—it is actually a more personal reason. We—” She stumbled over the words and glanced over at Bruce. “We know the identity of the Warlock.” 

Oliver looked surprised. “So quickly?” 

“Yeah, we didn’t expect to either, but—” Clara’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. She drew in a deep while clenching her eyes closed, pressing her palm against her forehead. “Felicity was able to help verify some things that came to light after Dr. Fate examined the Manor. It isn’t easy to tell you this…” 

“Tell me what?” Oliver narrowed his eyes. 

“Leliana is the Warlock,” Bruce replied, bluntly. 

The words didn’t sound right. Those words didn’t make sense to his brain, even if the sentence was grammatically correct and everything. Oliver stared at them, waiting for a punchline and when one didn’t come, he felt laughter shook through his body. It bubbled up out of his mouth and he couldn’t contain it. 

Clara sighed. “We were supposed to ease him into it!” 

“It is better to have it said and be done with,” Bruce disagreed. 

Oliver wiped tears from his eyes while he struggled to contain his chuckles. It was only until he looked at Clara who looked guilt ridden and Bruce who looked at him with sympathy that he realized that they were dead serious. “You can’t—no, you couldn’t have said what you just said because what you said makes no sense. It makes no sense,” Oliver snapped, the gears in his mind shifted immediately into anger. His temper had on more than one occasion got the best of him, but try as he might, he couldn’t contain the lava hot rage that simmered under his skin. “Leliana isn’t the Warlock. She just isn’t.” 

“Oliver—” Clara tried to speak, but Oliver shook his head sharply. 

“I know you are a paranoid bastard, Bruce,” Oliver said, his voice raw. “I know that there has always been something about Leliana that hasn’t set right with you despite me telling you over the years that she is a good person. There are times that I appreciate your perseverance, because usually you are in the right about your gut instincts. But in this your instincts are way—way off!” 

“You are only saying that because you are too close,” Bruce replied, unfazed by his anger. “You are too emotionally involved to be objective about this. And deep down inside, you know that something isn’t right. You know that Leliana has been holding something back.” 

Oliver clenched his jaw together, unable to believe it. Leliana was his closest friend. The woman that had helped him pick himself up out of a dark place, and become so important him in ways that he hadn't dared to admit outloud. She had given him hope and light, and he couldn't believe that she would lie to him about something like this. She knew how he felt about magic, and for her to hide this...it caused his insides to twist in agony and his breath catch in the back of his throat. 

Clara took a step forward. “I talked to Leliana earlier, and she was a wreck. She is struggling with the weight of this secret and hiding it from you, I know she is. Haven’t you two of you ever had a conversation that was cryptic or strange? Hasn’t she ever started to tell you something and then all the sudden stopped?” She asked, her blue eyes peering at Oliver intently. 

Oliver felt his heart sink ever so slightly. There had been moments like that, but he brushed them aside by telling himself that Leliana was a private person. He just didn’t want to believe that she was hiding something like this. “You two are my friends, but I—I can’t—I can’t believe that to be true. I just can’t,” he told them, a bitter taste on the back of his tongue. “You are wrong about this.” 

“Ask her then,” Bruce challenged. “If you are so confident that we are wrong about this, then confront her about it.” 

Oliver glowered at him darkly. He marched back towards his vehicle and got into it, and he sat there in the seat for a good minute. He grasped at the seatbelt and clicked into place with more force than necessary. He twisted the keys in the ignition and sped off down the road with his tires squealing. 

* * *

Lowering her head into hands, Leliana closed her eyes with a miserable sigh. Her eyes are red rimmed from all the tears and she pulled a tissue out of the box, blowing her stuffed nose. Her chest ached like she had ripped out of everything inside and now all that remained was emptiness. She checked her phone for messages, and all she had was a picked of Teddy and Connor playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch. She gave a breathless laugh and the knot in her heart eased up, just a tiny bit. 

“God,” she whispered, setting the phone on the counter, “what I am doing?” 

Everything was spiraling out of control, and she felt like she was being dragged beneath the undertow. She had been so _close_ to confessing everything to Clara. The pain that had radiated off the woman—no, not woman, her birth mother had made every resolve she had nearly crumble like it had been made of wet clay. She pushed away from the counter and made her way over to the couch, where she dropped with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. She grabbed the nearest pillow and crushed it to her stomach, curling her knees up to her chest. 

A hysterical sound bubbled up her throat. Her stomach roiled and it took everything in her not to tear her hair out of her head. It was like hot needles crawled up the length of her throat and she chewed on the end of her nails, while she eyed the penthouse as if the walls would close in around at any given second. This sensation of being cornered and trapped—it crept up on her in the quiet moments and strangled all the good out of her life. It was like the war had never ended, and she hated it. She hated that that time and memories still had such a leash on her, and the aftermath of the war, the fallout of all her relationships… 

The fallout that drove her away made it hard for her to trust this new founded life and happiness. Her son was the bedrock of her life and kept her steady in all the chaos. The elves—Dobby, Winky, and all of them—were steadfast friends that would never let her down. She protected them zealously and would go to the end of the world for them. It was a good life and there were times she felt selfish for risking this life on the hope of bonding with her parents and be apart of their family. And then there was Oliver—the beautiful man had stolen his way into his heart and didn’t know the power he held over her. 

She never meant to fall in love with him. She never meant for any of this. 

And now she didn’t know what to do. She had never been good with expressing her emotions, and often bottled up everything until it reached a boiling point. Leliana stretched out across the length of the couch and allowed her eyes to fall closed. The fatigue of the last few days had caught up to her and she had no energy to stay awake any longer. 

_The garden was dark and deep._

_The lilies and violets surrounding the base of the large tree had long since withered and decayed. Aster Potter walked across the frigid earth, with the dead grass crunching beneath the soles of her feet. She came to a halt of the at the base of the tree and craned her head back to peer up through the branches set against the red sky. The branches looked like hands—sharp and greedy hands, hands that broke and torn, hands capable of destroying her entire world._

_The world so quiet and cold, so cold that it stole the breath right out of her lungs. She reached out and placed a quaking hand against the ash colored bark. The bark seemed expanded upon her touch, as if it were breathing. Shallow and fleeting breaths, like a death rattle. Her body seemed to mimic the breathing, and a shiver ran down her spine. Her eyes slid closed and she listened; it was so silent, as if the whole world had disappeared and this was a frozen moment in time._

_Aster. Leliana._ Martha. 

_So many names and identities, each that had defined her life in some way or form. Martha—the girl she never got to be, a family shattered and a life stolen. Aster—the girl-who-lived, chosen one and martyr painted villain, a life casted away. Leliana—the woman full of fears and hopes, a fragile future held in clumsy hands and a world that seemed to hang on by a thread. Her hand recoiled away from the tree and she backpedaled like she had been physically hit. A vision death and darkness, of blood dripping down deathly pale skin and lifeless eyes that pierced into her soul._

_The world shifted and suddenly she was running, running for her life. She ran so hard and fast, even though her legs felt like dead weights. Her lungs burned as if she had doused them into gasoline and set them alight with a match. The forest was pitch black. She couldn’t see anything. Panic crackled along her skin and the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. There was something hot on her heels, stomping and tearing through the bushes and trees. She didn’t know what it was, only that she didn’t want to get caught by it._

_Heart in her throat, Aster tried to push herself to run faster when large hands shot out of the darkness and wrapped around her throat. She lashed out, trying to pry the hands off her neck to no avail. The pressure around her throat increased until she couldn’t suck any ounce of air, and then darkness swallowed her whole._

The sound of her shrill ringtone startled Leliana out of the nightmare. Her mouth was dry, and her heart hammered in her throat. Her green eyes darted around, filled with panic and tears. Her body was rigid like carved out of stone and it wasn’t until her surroundings became clearer that she slowly started to relax. “It was just a dream. Oh, God, it was just a dream,” she croaked out, and then she reeled back when the cellphone went off again. She grimaced, running her fingers through her tangled hair before picked her phone up off the ground where it fell. 

She clicked the button to light up the screen and cursed because the glass had been cracked. Like a spiderweb, the cracks in the glass spread out through the entire phone screen. She could barely make out that she had several missed calls from Kara. A glance at the clock on the wall, Leliana realized that she had been asleep for about three and half hours. The evening gloom cast an orange glow upon the penthouse, and the light was just bright enough to send a spike of pain through her skull. 

Leliana wiped the wetness of her cheeks and worked her sore jaw about. She must have clenched her teeth in her sleep again and gave herself a lovely tension headache. She swiped her thumb across the screen to unlock the phone and hissed when tiny shard of glass pressed into her thumb. It didn’t break skin. “Fuck,” she cursed, annoyed. She set on the table and made her way over the landline. 

She dialed in Kara’s phone number that she knew by heart. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, while she brushed off the glass into the nearby trashcan. After the second ring, Kara finally answered the phone. 

_“Hello?”_

“Kara? It’s Leliana. I saw I had a few missed calls—” 

_“Thank God! I was about to call the calvary.”_

Leliana blinked, confused. “Why would you do that?” 

A sigh came through the speaker. _“We have been trying to reach for over an hour now. Lena and I went down to the Gotham Police Department. I was going to interview Dr. Blades and try to see where he found out about you. I didn’t get the chance,”_ Kara responded, a tremor of concern in her voice. 

“What happened?” Leliana asked, a knot in the pit of her stomach. 

_“Dr. Blades is dead.”_

Leliana gasped, slightly. She reached up and rubbed her eyes, and then exhaled slowly. “His benefactor isn’t a merciful one,” she commented, her voice quiet. And if fit Wonder Woman’s ruthlessness. “How did he die?” 

_“Heart attack according the police, because he was alone in the cell. The footage of the jail cell showed him have some spastic fit, like he was being attacked by an invisible force. He dropped dead about ten minutes later, and the way he ‘fell’,”_ —Leliana could practically see Kara do sarcastic air quotes with her fingers— _“down looks bizarrely like the way Wonder Woman would pose the magic users she killed.”_

Wonder Woman liked to make examples out of her enemies. She had a unique anger towards magic users, displaying the bodies in a macabre fashion. The bodies were position like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, though the meaning behind why was lost on Leliana. The arms and legs stretched out in such a fashion displayed the proportions of the body, but also left the body in a vulnerable position. It would speak to why Wonder Woman chose that way to pose the body. The invisible force implied a deadly magic user, but her knowledge of villainous sorcerers was limited. She had gone out of her way to avoid the mystical parts of this world, both good and bad. 

“Dr. Blades wasn’t a magic user thought. He dabbled in it, there is not doubt about that,” Leliana said, thoughtfully. “But he isn’t like Zatanna, Dr. Fate, or myself.” 

Kara expelled a hard breath. _“We don’t the posing of the body was because he played with magic. Lena believes—and I agree with her—that it was a message. For you,”_ the kryptonian stated, a nervous edge to her voice. 

“Well,” Leliana said, “shit.” 

It was one thing to suspect something. It was another to have those suspicions confirmed. Leliana didn’t want to be caught in the midst a war. She had enough of wars and blood, but her powers so closely bound to Death, a part of her knew that she would always been pulled into such battles. “Alright. Alright. I will figure…something out. I will figure out what to do next. Just keep an eye on the news and can you call Connor? See if he can check in on Teddy,” Leliana said, chewing at her nails. She ripped her hand away from her mouth when she realized what she was doing. “I don’t want Teddy to be alone right now. Also remind Dobby and the others to put on the human glamour. Connor accidently saw one for a split second with the glamour and now he swears my house is home to goblins.” 

_“Will do. Stay safe, okay?”_

“I’ll try,” Leliana promised. She placed the phone back into the cradle and paced across the floor while swinging her arms anxiously at her side. It was terrifying that she had a war crazed—another war crazed maniac after her. If she had to chose who was more deadly, Wonder Woman or Voldermort—the Amazonian won in spades. Voldemort was a shell of the powerful charismatic leader that he had once been at his resurrection. His power limited and reduced from near death, and from splitting his soul into so many pieces. Wonder Woman was at the height of her power and had an assortment of deadly people at her beck and call. The Master of Death could give the Amazonian a run for her money, but Leliana was not confident that she could beat her. 

Even with her latent inheritance from her birth mother. 

Still, it was a threat that couldn’t be ignored. She needed to learn more about Diana Prince which meant seeking out her old allies. So lost in thought, Leliana didn’t hear the door open to the penthouse or the footfalls right behind her. She turned around and summoned the _moretta_ mask to her hand, only to come to a screeching halt when her eyes met Oliver’s. Her lips parted on a startled gasp, and she swayed backwards on her feet. “Ol—Oliver—” 

The entire world seemed to hold its breath while tension crackled in the air, and she watched Oliver take a step forward, his expression like a thunderstorm. His eyes were locked on the mask clasped in her hand, and then those eyes slowly rose to her face. “What the hell is that?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

The mask slipped out of her fingers and crashed to the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:  
> 1.) The Purse—I was waiting for some to call out the fact Leliana’s purse changed color in the first chapter. I figured a reader would assume it was a mistake and not a plot point. If anyone hasn’t figured it out, Leliana (Aster) used a time turner to go back to get the museum and steal the book. She returned to the mansion and was keeping an eye on Dr. Blade and the intruders, and only intervened when the villain mentioned the Deathly Hallows. The purse was a mistake on Leliana’s part when she got dressed back up to appear like she hadn’t left the party at all. She spent the hours trying to crack Nicolas Flamel’s book, lost track of time and was in a rush. 
> 
> 2.) There was original supposed to be three more scenes in this chapter. A scene between Oliver and Leliana after the nightmare, and a kiss was supposed to happen. Then a scene with Clara and Leliana, and a scene with Bruce and Oliver before Oliver discovered Leliana with the mask. The scenes were dropped because it compromised the flow of the chapter for me personally, and would have been unnecessary to get the plot going. This allowed me to get the story moving ahead, and set up the rest of the story, and pivotal scenes--particularly between Leliana and Oliver. 
> 
> FAN CASTING:  
> Joanne Kelly as Leliana Evans-Black (Aster Potter)  
> Dan Stevens as Oliver Queen  
> Liv Tyler as Clara Kent  
> Daniel Goddard as Bruce Wayne  
> Eva Green as Diana Prince  
> Aaron Eckhart as Arthur Curry  
> Emily Bett Rickards as Felicity Smoak  
> Jensen Ackles as Jason Todd  
> Hudson West as Teddy Lupin  
> Melissa Benoist as Kara Zor-El (Danvers)  
> Katie McGrath as Lena Luthor  
> Marcus Chong as Connor Hawke

**Author's Note:**

> WOO! This isn't your grandma's Justice League. I hope that you have enjoyed ACT I. I originally was going to post this as a long one shot, but felt that breaking it up into three acts would help me not feel so pressured, and also make it easier for any readers to read. ***Also bear in mind that this is only ONE of MANY sequels to "A New Beginning". Aster will have a different backstory in a different world, so just because I'm posting this one doesn't mean I'm not doing all the others I mentioned. I'm doing them all because my brain went wild.***
> 
> Author’s Notes:  
> 1.) Is Wonder Woman too depraved and evil? Uh, no, this is pretty typical behavior I feel for the Injustice/Flashpoint Paradox Wonder Woman. She was tyrannical, craving power and committed genocide. In Injustice, she had an affair with Superman and killed a lot of people for his agenda and out of the “love” she felt for him. In Flashpoint Paradox, she killed Queen Mera after being confronted over her affair with Aquaman, and wore her crown as a “warning”. She killed Captain Thunder “Shazam”, after he turned back into a kid. So the violent and irredeemable depths that Wonder Woman takes in this story, over her revenge and because she had literally been consumed by Ares is what I would consider cannon compliant with Evil! Wonder Woman. I also don’t believe she loved Superman or Aquaman, but instead felt that they were the only ones worthy of being her “mate”. It was a matter of pride and lust, than any amount of love.  
> 2.) Oliver Queen—I choose Oliver as the love interest, simply because outside of Arrow and Smallville fanfiction, I don’t think he gets a lot of love in the fanfic world. I also liked the dynamic that he hated magic because of Damien Darhk killing Black Canary. It was a tip of the nod to comic and the tv show, while also setting up the angsty drama between Aster/“Leliana” and Oliver.  
> 3.) Batman and Superwoman—I knew immediately she was going to be their child. I was tempted to put her in the place of Helena Wayne, the Huntress who is Bruce and Selena Kyle’s daughter. Instead, I felt that was overdone in some cases and wanted to do something fresh. When I learned of Marvel’s Steve Rodgers and Tonya Stark, that’s where the idea for Bruce Wayne and Clara Kent came from. So here we are. :D


End file.
